A MAORI LEGEND

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XXV, Issue 124, 11 May 1935, Page 15

A MAORI LEGEND

Brown were her eyes, the still reflective colour of a marshy woodland pool, long ringlets of black were hers, the deep, sheeny black of a tui’s breast, strong of limbs and sturdy was she, and there was childhood in the very heart of her. She had been named Rangi Ora, bait the natives who were her friends knew her better by their own name—Little Loved Oue. Onl.v a child, but the birds of the forest knew’ her light footsteps, they sang for her, the flowers nodded, the stream murmured with ever incessant laughter and the little loved one sang her own song in her own words of her hanpiness and theirs. She had never known a mother’s tender care, but she had shared an elder sister’s love. Muri Ora was the sister’s name—the pride of the pa.

But with the days as the small child, Rangi, grew older and wiser the elder girl Muri grew older and more beautiful and the little loved oue knew she

was not the only one who loved and was loved. Sometimes she would stop in her play and run to the sister’s side; “You do love me —very much?” she’d ask sweetly. “Little girl,” the answer would come. “More than sunshine and flowers,” and, contented for a while the little maiden would trip off to join the birds in their play. I'or years the two sisters had shared a small, picturesque whare by the stream's edge. There, through the still hours of night, the stream laughed as it sung its own silver words to time with a rustling breeze. Late one night the wild screech of an owl awakened the slumbering child. Th o brown eves blinked open aud a little arm felt for the comforting body that had lain so long by hers ... so long. But there was only an empty, unruffled space, She was gone! The child sat up with a start, then sweet and clear notes of music drifted to her. She could hear the soft, rhythmic singing and she could imagine tho swinging pois. Then as the understanding dawned on her, Rangi’s small head slipped back on to the pillow. She would await Muri’s return, but ere then sleepy lids ,had fallen over sleepy eyes, and there was no frightened owl to awaken child Rangi Ora. On awakening in tho morning tho little maid said, “Muri.”

“Yes, Little Loved Ou» ” “Do you love me?” “Yes, Little Loved One.” “Muri, you wouldn’t ever leave me?” “Oh, never, never!” But the child was not satisfied and resolved to put the same question to the wise and great tohunga Consequently she wandered along towards him early in the hours of the morning, when the sun latticed a golden pattern on to the silver of laughing water. “What is it, Little Loved One?” said the ancient Maori tenderly. “Is it a story about flying birds you ask to hear?” “No, it is not a story of birds—but of love. Do you think Muri loves moi’’’ “Does this great tohunga love little Rangi?” “Does he?” “Very, very much.” “Then,” she asked in a serious vein of thought, “will she ever leave me?” Tho old, thiu hands stroked the thin, wrinkled face, then suddenly: “Would a mother bird of the forest leave her tender fledgling?” “Not ever,” was the child’s reply, as she left him to go and split flax for some busy wahines. No longer did Rangi trouble Muri or the tohunga with questions, and they thought she had wisely forgotten her wondering of a week ago. But it was not so. Night after night in the stilly silence Rangi Ora would awaken and stretch her brown arm across tho vacant space; would listen to the strains of music, then drift into restless slumber.

There caino a time when tho whole pa was thrilled with excitement. The music played all day and all night. Muri Ora was to marry Hum Tilni, u young and handsome chieftain!

Little Loved One alone was 100011011* with sadness. She rau not to the tohunga for comfort, but to the birds and the singing waters. She sobbed the night through; she grew thin and wan.

“Little Loved One,” it was the tohunga calling her to him. She went. “Y'ou must be happy in her happiness. Run now, and let mo see you laugh.” “Oh, yes!” she gasped and ran quickly away, but she laughed no more where tho waters played, no longer did she fondle the baby birds. “Oh, little Rangi, you are not well, little sister,” Muri would say. “I am well, I must go and play,” said she. Days went by and Muri’s wedding ceremony drew near. Rangi was sickly and despondent, but she was not actually ill—they thought it would pass away, that it was a child's whim. It was not.

There was a morning when spring danced abroad in the open and on this morning tho brown eyes opened from a bed of suffering. Little Loved Ono was seriously ill. The air of jollity changed for sadness. Rangi Ora cried aloud for the sunshine, whereupon the bed was tenderly lifted, with the child, out into the free out-of-doors. In vain the tohunga muttered weird incantations. The little loved one’s hand would fondly press Muri’s, but her eyes would stray to where the feathered creatures of the forest were at play. Only the birds understood. In the glory of a spring afternoon the natives stood solemnly around. The brown eyes opened for the last time, caught their final glimpse of a bird’s soaring wing, and the little loved one lay dead. Dead only in body, for 10l to the amazement of the striken tribe, two transparent arms appeared thfough the air, slipped about the child’s body, then letting it fall back again, carried with them the still form of a sleeping child. Overwhelmed with wonder they gazed. “Rangi’s spirit!” they cried. Up, up to the blueness above, then like a white mist the hazy form descended and rested on the greenery of a bush plant. Rested for ever more —in spring.

Turn your gaze to a bush-clad hill. You may see it then a cream-white mist across the sombre greens, clear, transparent almost, like a child’s delicate spirit—Rangiora.

This week I am geing to write about a bolting horse I have ridden. A man and I had just taken a mob of lambs down to another farm. On the way home we were coming down a side road and we started to trot our horses aud mine went from a trot to a canter and then to a gallop. The next thing I, knew was that my horse was bolting with me. Faster and faster I was going, the corner coming nearer every second. A truck was going down the road at tho same time and I was gaining on it every step. I could not hold the horse, aud as he was going round the corner he slipped and I fell and went rolling over and over to the other side of the road. When I got up I was told that my horse had turned a complete somersault. The man with whom I was riding came along after and stopped to pick up my hat I had lost. Three Maoris who had stopped the horse thought that we were having a race and that I was given a head start. I was surprised as I was not much hurt, onl.v scratched, bruised and a bit shocked. Have you ever been on a bolting horse Chief Kiwi? May 1 have my Kiwi

Badge as I promise to do my work myself.

—Pink certificate to “Poa Protenses,” age 12 years, Poukawa. (Your badge will arrive next week, “Poa Protenses.” I have had only one personal experience with a bolting horse, and did not find it pleasant. 1 am glad you were not injured.)

Once while I was staying with Auntie by cousin and I decided to go to a friend’s place to spend the afternoon. By going through the paddocks and crossing the creek we would get there much quicker than by going around the road, but unfortunately for us it was not as safe. A large branch which had been broken off a willow tree by a gale, lay across the creek and we decided to cross by it, as the creek was very swollen by the recent rains. I managed to crawl across safely, but my cousin slipped in somehow. I was horrified as I was not a good swimmer, so I went screaming tor help. A farmer who was working in the paddock heard me and he came hurrying to see what was wrong and breathlessly we run back to the creek, but to our relief my cousin had managed to grab hold of un overhanging branch in the creek and scrambled out. She was wet to the skin and we ran home as fast us we could. Next time we went to visit our friend we went by the road, us wo had too great a fright to trust the creek again. Love to all. —Pink certificate to “Hiro Hiro,” age 11 years, Otane,

As I have not had much time lately I have not written. As I do not see the “Tribune” now I will write on my own subject this time. I am writing on an Elephant Moth caterpillar which was taken to school.

One day not long after we had been back, I took this caterpillar to school. A few days later a boy took a black specimen of the same kind, mine being a green one. The two ugly crawling grubs were placed in a cardboard box together. They were watched day after day by interested children and kumera leaves were taken to feed them on. Later on the green one shrivelled up and died. The other one began to shrink but did not die, it kept on wriggling and in a. good while'•turned into a chrysalis. It did not- n'eed any more food now, ami I did uot think any more about it until one day the teacher, who had it, told mo it was a chrysalis aud soon would turn into a moth.

It stayed a chrysalis for a good while, but it lias now turned into a moth ot a black colour, with greyish marks on its wings. Its body part has pale pinkish marks. It is now struggling to pu'l its trunk out of its case, the rest of the case being discarded. —Pink certificate to “I’euhen, ” age 12 years, Nuhaka.

It is to the Romans that we owe toe first lighthouse. It was—aud is still—the Pharos watchtower to the south of the Keep of Dover Castle. It is the only remaining specimen of Roman work iu the castle, an dlho earliest piece of regular masonary existing in Great Britain. It consists of a casing of flints and tufa with bounding courses of large Roman tiles, filled with smaller stones. Its shape is octagonal outside, but square inside, the inner room measuring 14ft aud tho walls being 10ft thick. It was used at one time as a Government storehouse.

Not long ago I was crossing a river where there was no bridge. As I wac crossing it on my new horse, Prince, he stepped on an immense boulder and all of a sudden his loot slipped off this enormous stone und he fell over into the deep water, so 1 went in head fiist aud was wet up to my shoulders. 1 struggled out somehow, but I don't know how I did it, aud I was a long way front home. I caught a dreadful cold.

—Red certificate to Molly Gilmore, age 13 years, Erasertown.

Having been asked by some friends to come to town I took the opportunity aud went. I reached town quite comfortably and went with my pal into the church to have her infant christened. After the christening was over we wended our way to the tea-rooms, where we enjoyed a cup of tea and several varieties of cakes. Before setting out for home we visited the hospital to see oue of my dearest friends in bed parlysed. We had not long to stay before the car had arrived *,u uke us home. We bado goodbye to my frie> d and leaping into the car we were soon travelling for home. We reached home at half past six and put our tea on. We had sausages and 1 enjoyed myself very much.

—Rod certificate to T:mh Aitken, nge 13 years, Tukeinokiin Station, Wairoe

I am going to tell you all about a day at the sports. We wont to the Tikokino sports on Saturday. We went into the sports ground at ten ocloek. We had a look round and saw the chopping and some the tho horse events. Then we had some lunch. After lunch I ha-1 an ice cream and a ride on the merry-go-round. —Red certificate to “Heatberbeli,’ ago .8 years, Te Kura. |