FLOWERS AND WEEDS

Greymouth Evening Star, 9 May 1931, Page 10

FLOWERS AND WEEDS

TJjFE IN THE ’FORTIES.

Some of the most intimate glimpses into a bygone age are provided by the colbur' .'that reflects itself unconsciously from the pages of the casual letter-writer. But early Wellington letters are not rich in these glhnpses. Such at any rate seems to be the opinion of Eileen Duggan, in “The New Zealand Magazine” for April, in which she observes: —

“Of course, some of Wakefield’s own personal friends were good letter writers, but their style is as formal as a Frenclp. -landscape, and from its con&pes tew images .escape. It is from the terse, .di&cult letters of the poor that one gets the most gashing glimpses, of that earlier period.* “Of the earliest days of the whaling days, there are few Relics. £he whalers were men of bloyvs, not words, with more rum than reason. It is a pity that we have so appall a record of them, for there wag .something dashing and defiant about a goddam debonairness that the settiers lacked. Some .of them married Maoris and lost all Aome ties/.others agonised for letters’from their yviyes and children, and, not receiving sank into a ditch of indifference.'Very often the whaling master was the devil in the machine. He sank’ thejir letters at .’sea to prevent their homes from tugging them back. It -was a hard life; and there Were many deserters. This was his method of staying off importunate memories. Then, again, the whalers were poor men. Some of them had never even attended a hedge school. These could write only their marks. So we have few traces of the trypots of our Moby Dick period.” Most ..of the settlers deal with bread and\£/sof. Carpenters, it would appear, srer in a labourers’ heaven. So ippny new houses and so few hands. “Carpenters here,” says one letter, “get from 8/- to 11/- a day.” Another is deeply worried because he considers Xhe .pilots At tfce pleads are two blundering Rubbers. ;Eysently he was expecting flatters or prriyals from Home apd feaxjed 4pr .tb.eir safety.

SALT MEAT AND WILD DUCKS. It must have been a woman, surely, a house-proud woman, who lamented the absence qf feathers. “No feathers lor feeds in Wellington,” j&e Another, however, gives hope that from the Wjifd game .f could be procured.’ “We drank te.a .out of tinderboxes and ate Avild suoks and. salt beef.” ■ - ‘

Another is worried by the shortage of cobblers. “A cobblei- would be rushed here. Shoes are our worst need. Everyone is wanting shoes.” Cows were as scarce asi or even scarcer than cobblers. “Butter is 3/6 a pound,” says one, but other comestibles seem to have been fairly reasonable. “‘Potatoes are 8/- a ton and bread is 8d a loaf.” However, money was .worth more in those" days.

flatters jydl/L be interested to hear that rooms could be j rented -for flye shillipgsa and the cost of a three-roomed cottage was £lOO. One correspondent mentions that -.fecon .yas p.n their menu. “You can lyuy two or three pigs for a blanket.” -It yas wonderful ,what a blanket would purchase in those days, especially a gay one. The Maoris ar.e mentioned with rather arpazing ,casualpes£. *They and - their ways were soon taken for granted. One mentions buying a flax hat, a woven hpt, for 3/r from them. Another says cheerfully, “There are a great many Maoris dying since we lapded.” Among letters written by people of the land-owning section is mention of the great fire on the Bepch. “The fire burned 59 houses.” (Imagine that for a loss in a new settlement!) He adds, with the brave buoyancy of the poor, “But very little flour was lost.” It is fine also to note that the Maoris, with their inborn graciousness, stepped forward to help them in that red hour. One can picture fifty-nine houses, mostly of cob, with p thatch of raupp' plaited with grass, in the path of a fire. In those early days many of the immigrants were remittance men, whoso family cheerfully .paid for their absence. One I,otter' refers to this type: “Veyy many young gentlemen stroll the beach and smoke cigars and spend in’ .the grogshops.” But' it is touches such as these that link the past with the presept by a chain of homeliness. “The river here,” writes one, “is as big as the one at .Abbott’s 4.1111.” Another boasts gently phat “Mary Ann is very tidy and fit to be seen.” A third is trying to bring England blowing from the yellow clay—-“we have lettuce and endive and marigold and lupin.” Soinehqjy hi those little wrested gardens (soliloquoises Eileen Duggan) one salutes the .oriflamnies of valour, fhose pioneers had no certainty that they even owned their land. Disputes about- titles were almost incessant. J hey had no certainty of their lives even, in a wild land where brawls between the two races were frequent. But they hoed and .coaxed their “marvXta. “ d trom W*