A life of small things round about’ in Akaroa

Press, 29 November 1978, Page 12

A life of small things round about’ in Akaroa

By

JOHN WILSON

Home & People

From a comfortable old house on one of Akaroa's back streets, one of the township’s ‘‘old identities” looks back on a life that has seen many changes since he was an English public schoolboy 60-odd years ago. In his time Walter Moore has been an undergraduate at Cambridge, a secondary schoolteacher in Wales and New Zealand, a nurseryman, a fisherman and — at least since he went to live. in Akaroa in the 1950 s — a thorn in the side of authority. At Emmanuel College, Cambridge, Mr Moore studied classics, which left him with ‘‘nothing to do except teach.” He did so for two years in Wales; then, through a contact with a member of a Christchurch family, the Carringtons, he landed a job teaching at Christ’s College. Already an avid sailor — he had spent weeks pottering about in boats in the Channel and on the Norfolk Broads — he came to New' Zealand thinking of the fine sailing he had heard was to be had on the Hauraki Gulf. He never did sail on the w'aters of the gulf, but maintained his contact with the sea while he was teaching at Christ’s with

an 11-foot dinghy which he sailed on Lyttelton Harbour, In his 18 years teaching at Christ’s (1930-48), ‘‘Wombat” left behind a not always kindly reputation. He is remembered for requiring a schoolboy who broke a window on a wintry day to sit with his posterior keeping the elements out of the class-

room for an entire Latin period. He has himself some not unfavourable memories of some of his pupils. One of them, defying his parents’ expectations of a respectable career, was, he recalled with obvious satisfaction, imprisoned during the war for refusing to serve in the armed forces. But this pupil, he observed. with disapproval and disappointment evident in his voice, had since reverted to respectability. What precipitated his final break with teaching was the remark of a retiring colleague. Mr Moore asked him if he had any regrets at leaving after a lifetime’s teaching. He felt, the colleague

told him, as if he had reached the end of a sentence to imprisonment. Buying land on the outskirts of Christchurch, he took to growing roses, a pleasant occupation until the city grew out around h’n and he found himself working back land behind suburban houses. Liking a change now and again, he sold up his land, moved to

Akaroa and put his longstanding love for sailing to practical use by becoming a fisherman. In Akaroa he has acquired something of a reputation for taking on the powers that be. His most notable effort was to thwart the Akaroa Civic Trust by publicly painting out a billboard the trust had erected on the road into Akaroa which he (and many others) found offensive. On another occasion he took on the Marine Department over illegal trawling for flounder in the harbour, where he set nets, for a small profit and to keep himself out of mischief. When he was told it would be a pity to go on about it “in case an un-

pleasant situation developed” he promptly sent his entire correspondence with the department to the Minister and had the satisfaction of seeing an inspector summoned to Wellington never to reappear in Akaroa. Thereafter, he recalled, marine department inspectors eyed him wearily. Another “fight” he recalled with even greater satisfaction was when the county officers — “they had some reason” — blew up an old house at the Kaik which two Maori brothers had been accustomed to live in when they wanted to remove themselves from the temptations of Akaroa’s hotels. He took the case up legally, and w’on it. The county officers, as he remembered it, had all soon found new jobs elsewhere. His conversation wandered over all these topics as we sat on his veranda and walked round his garden. He refused at first to budge from his seat on his veranda to allow "The Press” photographer to get a decent shot of him. She was obliged to back off uncomfortably close to his beehives on the veranda and asked him, anxiously, what risk she was running.

A very serious one he told her. They were, he warned, very dangerous Peninsula bees, notorious amongst beekeepers. There, was no doubt about it, they were most, unpleasant bees. (Later he relented and allowed her to get the pictures she wanted out on the lawn.) Had he any mind to back to England? No, why should he, he answered. Everything would have changed, be gone. The ditch where he had found water shrews as a

boy would probably be piped, and even if it were not, if he was to go poking round in ditches at the age of 72 all he would gain would be a reputation for being an imbecile. What he enjoyed was a “life of small things round about.” which was just what Akaroa gave him. A visitor from 'he city had told him that he hardly ever saw a bird. He could count from his veranda about 25 species. What was there to leave Akaroa for?