"REQUIESCAT..."

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 77, 1 April 1940, Page 9

"REQUIESCAT..."

IN FORT BASTION.

FINAL CEREMONY.

THE GLORY THAT WAS HIS. AUCKLAND SATS "FAREWELL." Tin , peace of night lias lain now over tlic last resting place of Michael Joseph Savage at Bastion Point; the crickets have intoned their litany, the night breezes have refreshed the air about, have, stirred the grass and flowers, and brought the light sound of tiny waves lapping the shore. The noise of crowds has stilled, and the sun has shone again to warm the ground. Hβ has come, the great war cam e, to the (iliidinfr place —the long voyage of life, with its sorrows, its storms of conflict, and its acclaim, is over. But the wake he has cut, the things he has done—and his name—will be remembered. The hill?, the sea, the trees and the other things of Xaturc cry out now as those simple people he loved cried yesteruay, "Toiu niiii to waka" (Haul hither the canoe) ; and the world answers, as it answered yesterday, '"Kequieseat in pace" (May lie rest in peace). Dominion Gave Lavishly. Michael Joseph Savage, that unassuming, gentle little man, would probably not have wanted the- glory and colour, the splendour of a State in mourning. He would have felt, asj he felt in the great moments of his life, a wonder at it, and a weight of responsibility at the trust and love reposed in him. But he had given himself to his people, and, at the last, the people gave themselves to him—lavishly, as is the way of mankind in the moment of remembrance.

Never had Auckland seen tho like of it. nor any part of New Zealand. But the sun. shining gloriously, would have seen it when some giant kauri had fallen and a sough of wind had stirred the tops of the clustering bush; and Rangitoto had seen it when the sun had sunk and the clouds gathered in a glory of farewelling colour, jind the sea reflected it in flashing light.

Two hundred thousand people, it was estimated, had watched in silence as the cortege wound its slow, sad but wondrous way from the railway station to tho point, and many of those thousands were gathered there on the rolling green headland above the sea, waiting, gazing, remembering—and mourning.

Before them was the rising mound of earthworks, erected in those long ago years of tlio 1880'e when a Kuseiuti invasion was feared—now to guard the burial vault that itself had once housed ammunition for the guns. How strange a place, was this for a man of peace? But now the mournful air of the Dead March was sounding, and the sun glinted on the- bayonets of marching men as the second echelon crossed the brow of the hill, among the crowding people, and one remenibered. He had not shrunk when the call came. He was at one with that headland, for it, too, had known bitter war as it had known peace. Headland of History. One henrd beside one tho voice of Ngapipi Eaweti, descendant of Maori historians, telling of that place—Kohimarunia, . . . "Gathering in the moonlight." Once, where now was the Tamaki Yacht Club, with, before it. the marshalled craft of the yachtsmen of Auckland, had been the big rock of that name, and there a Maori sentinel had stood at night, while the womwi gathered pi pis on the foreshore . . .

Where now was the earthwork, glorious with the rising carpet and wall of wreathed flowers—crimson of dahlia, red of rose and gerbern, mauve of aster, yellow of marigold, pink of. carnation and lielladonna lily, white of St. Joseph lily, lacquered leaves and abiding green of grass—had beon the pa of Taramokonioko, ho of the two wives and three sons. ...

While the bustle of preparations went on about; while people, who had waited since 8 a.m. for this time in the late afternoon stood, still in patience, the voice of Ngapipi went on, calling buck the years. . . . How Taramokoraoko, angered at the treatment given by his second wife to his two first-born, sent her to cut flax in the valley while he took her child, his third son, out to

Beacon Rock and left him there—for the tide. How the eon was rescued and grew, elsewhere, tq vengeful manhood; and how he came with 400 men to this spot, his father's pa. enticed the warriors out, and, by ambush, destroyed them. And how Beacon rock was named for him, "Kapi Tana." Ancient Ceremonial. So it had been related; and so. to this hill of history, with warriors about him —but in peace—mine Michael Joseph Savage. Behind him were his Ministerial colleague?, th»> representatives of State and <Ky. and of other (ioverunients. About him wore his people, who loved him as he had loved them: and, advancing to meet him, were the dark people of another Pacific island, Samoa —to hail hi ill as their departed chieftain, to throw over the New Zealand ensign, battle (lag of H.M.S. Achilles, which clothed his cojlin, the sacred mat they hail for him.

Here, too, was the envoy of the Maoris with the "wcro" of answered challenge; and behind this train were the native people of thi* land gathered from far ami near for the "powhiri." Bundles of weeping willow , twigs in their hands, rising and fulling rhythmically— '"taua" for "tears"—twigs in wreaths about their heads, symbols of Christian worship that had eonie to them, it war; tulid, through the Kast from Jerusalem itself, and their voices lifted, following their leader . . .

"Kα Xpuiul Ka Xgaue! They are stirring! They are stirring! From far away south, To the northern sphere-— A *tar ha* fallen from the skies. A taniwha has gone from its lair; (ireat is our sorrow, Aue! A He!' , The Last Resting Place. He came imioiig his people, another sacred clonk flung upon his colli n by I'rinccse To I'uea herself. It was the highest gtt>turu of the Maori race, the. formal farewell that had last been given at the burial of King Te Kata Maliutu of the Maoris in 1!»3.?.

The Maoris fell back, and now the collin was lifted from the gun-carriage on to the sturdy shoulders of men from the Royul Xavy, the Hoyal Marines, the Ro}'al Now Zealand Artillery, and the Royal Now Zealand Ajr Force. It came forward behind the cross lie had always followed in the purpose of hie life, to the final ceremony.

Lifting on the air wore the voices of tho choir of priests in the final chanted prayer, "In Paradisian."; beside the bier on the raised platform Bishop Lie ton, black and silver cope contrasting with white linen mitre, was voicing tho last supplication of the Catholic Church — words of sorrow, of challenge, of hope eternal; incense of prayer and the voices of the priests again . . . "Benedictus" and "Jesu, Stilvator Mundi."

Then, through tho avenue of flower* and rose {total*, to its resting place in the hill wont the bodv <>f the Kt. Hon. Michael Joseph Savage, I\C, D.C.L., Prime Minister of New Zealand—farm boy, grocer, bottle- washer, student, thinker, leader and great lover of his followinoiL

The. black curtail! of tho vault entrance rose and fell. Bugles rang out tho challenging, sorrow-filled "Last Poet." The people surged forward for a final glimpse, and their voice* rose . . . "Abide With Me, ..."

Sails on the craft below lifted, filled, and caught the silver of the water, the gleam of the westering sun. Over the hill passed the people of Auckland to busy life.

And peace came to the grave of Michael Joseph Savage.