A Question Of Maori Research.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 66, 19 March 1938, Page 2 (Supplement)

A Question Of Maori Research.

WHEN my friend the historian heard that I was going to spend a week in X, he spoke emphatically. "Here's your chance to do a little research. That place simply reeks with history. Try for once to be a little intelligent about the native race. Find out facts for yourself. Poke around."

The admonition depressed me profoundly. I was going to X for rest and a holiday. I did not want to do research; I am not intelligent about the native race. Certainly I live amonyst them, as did my parents and grandparents before me. I have "brought up"' several of them, taking them in what might be termed the : raw state, training them into capable domestics, seeing them married and later' standing godmother to their babies. I am still dependent on them for whatever help I need in house or garden; they still do all the shearing or contract .workrequired on the farm. But Ido not profess to know nearly as much about them as my friend the historian, who lives in town and reads up the subject most profoundly. Nor am I even as interested in their early tribal customs as every Xew Zenlander worthy of the name should be: I am much more-interested in thr>r modern habit of suddenly becoming tired when there is a race meeting in the vicinity, in infinite kindliness and almost unfailing courtesy. Last, but not least. lam no good at all at "poking round."

X is an Interesting little place; to me it attracts rather by its present peculiarities than by its historical past; to the historian it of Maoii legend; to me it reeks principally of rather stale fish, particularly of that variety of shark that the natives hang i up to dry in hot weather. How the population lives—save by selling each : other fish—is a mystery to me. but then ! I was there in the "off"' season. Xot for worlds would I visit X in the ;rala weeks of holiday, when all the hillsides are j infested by a rash of tents, when the sea is full of bathers and the fand of that peculiar variety of swimmer who stays on shore and acquires a suitable: tan. It must be a horrid spot durinjr the | season, but at least in those two months ! the local inhabitants acquire enough to allow them to live in peace for the other ten. *

During these quiet times the little , place dreams peacefully, and. since j there is a preponderance of Maori over ' pakeha in its population, its dreams are presumably of ancient battles, of miphty deeds of valour and colossal feasts of victory. Such, I was sure, were the ;

By M.E.S.

visions of that aged Maori woman— gnarled, twisted, tattooed, straight out of one of Goldie's pictures—who sat asleep on the end of the wharf. Doubtless she could trace her ancestry back to the very origin of the race, for there was both dignity and distinction In that patiently slumbering form. Here was the very material I wanted; here was a positive mine of information only; waiting to be explored. My friend the historian would have known how to do it. In ten minutes he would have approached her. wakened her gently, persuaded her to talk. In another five they would have been deep in the early legends of her tribe and he would have whipped out that inevitable small black notebook of his and be writing rap'.dly. I knew all about it. for he had often told me of his instantaneous success with his Maori friends. But lam not like that, and I

was still eyeing her doubtfullv when the old eyes opened and encountered my own; for a moment she studied me and then smiled—-toothlessly and expansively. Encouraged by this, I drew near and remarked on the beauty of the day, the charm of the place She nodded profoundly, and spoke at last. 'It's O.K. in the summer," she said amazingly. ' But, oh sister! It gives me the willies just now." That seemed to dispose of the question, and I melted away, wondering exactly what the historian ■would have done about it.

But hnp ß springs eternal, and I yearned to prove to that superior person that I, too, was not without intelligence in my contacts with the native race. Therefore T tried "to poke round*" without actually intruding. Mr opportunity came next day. when I saw in the distance a little jrroup of Maori ch:ldren under the big pohutukawa on the bench. They seemed intent, and it occurred to me that this he some sacred place and they entrusted to perform some youthful homape. Muffled bv distance. 1 could yet hear the guttural notes of some trihal son;:. the rhythmic beat of many small hare feet on the hard sand. \ct. so far as I could see. the dance was not akin to any haka T had e\er known: possibly, then. I had stumbled upon something infinitely old. even unique. Dreams of confounding the histor-an by my discovery lent me win?* and presently* I sheltered from P j~iu behind a chimp of flax not far from the childish group of devotees. At last I could distinguish words. Mr first

'reaction \va« of disappointment: \h<* words wore Kngiish. Mr second na; of paralysing mirth: the words wero 'Tin Pop Lye the Sailorman." A« I t:ptoed a way I regrpttpd bitterly thnt the i historian had not been with me when I mule that discoverv. Locknit in a Sacred Place et I would try once and if th;«. Too. pndpd in failure. then I would give it up. Now there is on tlie out -ki7 ln \ery -pot. which intel-li;-!-nt people lik" the historian visit « it i awe and reverence. Therp i- supposed to x ery niii-ient relic buried in i grove of trees here, and the accounted so tapu that neither M.io.-j !i<-r pak.ha approaches it elnsplv eve-i in the-e degenerate days. This attitudI deeply respc ted an I entirelv ur lerstood: I had im intention of round" in the vicinity: as we]] boil i hilly on the -teps of the Ceilonph. Yet I would approach it and try to as-in ; - ' late some of that legendary" colour wi'h xx hich my friend said the place \\i - rceking. I did so. jn thp comjMnv of I a couple of young commercial traveller - j to whom I had the extreme - redne-s of the It was pirt ure~ r — | enough: a round the gr..\ p were dctt . primitive Maori l-.uis of pun-as 1 nikaus. " There vm .op th~ natu: ■' | ■ native." I said proudlv. "Maxim." air.— 1 one young man. "lint I was ].<oki' _■ at the clothe- line. All l'>ek:;it. a ' ! palest pink. Now do vou th ■" ' i was thp stuff old Hongi u.-rd in v i: '•so covetously in th" London .hop „ ■ | dows.'' The historian r.iiiht havp fotiii 1 • j an appropriate an-wrr: 1 did not. I I had a letter from him last week, "i ; I ha VP just lieen down to X." he wrot ■■ , ! "and am frankly amazed that v , ibrought away no material from hist'ori- , | cal articles. Jt is steeped in hi-ro. . , | and legend, as I told you. I am ; , ' to say that I jjnt a I--? of iv.t-rr-ti- • J j stuff and will be abl- to puhlV- ■ ,: " pamphlet from the results. Mr clii"! j informant was an old Maori woman _ j looked ju.-t like a C»oldie portrait. ail i whom I discovered slpppinc* the -1< • ' I of her kind at the end of' the xvha-:". j She wn - the genuine primitive Mo- ' | Very helpful, too. v ore the child;. • j from tlie kainga near the pohutuk.iw • j they had b«rn brought up in tip- 11 i 1... 1 "tradition and were entire]" unspoil I Ibv contact with pakchas. Tlu-v'hav.- - j dances of peculiarly pure Maori oric :'. ' j Were you not thrilled by the saer, I ; j jrrovo and its surroundings? Soldo- ; i I have I met with the native so entire'" :in his natural surroundings: the u?i- ---? | spoiled Maori of history and lo^yi. • ; But you. my dear M. 'sav that you • saw none of thp-p things. I should to quote to you a certain ver-" . about those who. h:ivir*g pvps. see no' , That. I think, i? the final insult. 1 I shall not buy the hi-torian's pamphlet.