A CORNER IN SAND.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 19275, 13 March 1926, Page 6 (Supplement)

A CORNER IN SAND.

BY Qt'lZ. At a recent interesting address in A nek! and by the Honourable Pember Reeves, the well-known New Zealand author, the speaker stated that, in his opinion, we should do well to Inster in Mew Zealand a love of the history of our own country. The remark brought, to mind many tales told me by an old pioneer friend of the stirring times of his youth in the fighting 'sixties when deeds which are surely \\ iit ten in letters of gold upon the escutcheon of this happy land were performed : deeds which may well he told our Loys and girls. Standing opposite the site of the old Thames Hotel and listening to the noise, and clatter of modern machinery. 1 visualised the bit of old Auckland which stood behind those hoardings in the 'sixties as described b\ my friend. 1 made a little corner in sand and put myself in his place. Perchance a few will recognise the fleeting visions of early Auckland which came to me there. Waiting in the dusk for a homewardbound car, just the hour after the busy th.c of our modern city has become silent, when a brief peace broods over the highways, 1 glanced across at the gap where, until recently, stood the 'lhames Hotel. 1 remembered the original rude stru ture which stood there in the cradle days of Auckland—a small iron shed upon stilts, under which at high tide lapped tho waters of the Waitemata. It served as a store and inn combined. Many a time in my youth had I clattered lip the planks which served as an entrance and spent a pleasant hour with host Copland, a hearty man with a mighty voice. In time, a ten-storey skyscraper will raise its head, but they are having trouble, these moderns. these burrowers and del vers, who seek to lay the foundation of the new monster. '1 he sea will not be denied. Day after day the clatter of machinery and the sound of the hammer are heard, and still the sea flows in as it. did round the old piles in the 'sixties and tat-ps its toll of man's labour. "Haeremni! my pakeha!" broke upon mv meditations, and there, coming toward me. was the chief Rangi, friend of my youth. Old he was and grizzled, like myself. but hearty. "Here is a si<rht to gladden my eves. Jtrijiv "fore months have passed since last J t'iv face, my well-loved friend." " Yos. Rangi," I replied, " modern life has divided our pathways. I rejoice to see you. though I am heavy and sad. 1 have been visiting an old friend, for, whom the sands are running low. He is fast approaching the Tleinga." " Then T. too. sorrow with you for your friend," and the old chief removed iu's well-worn hat and stood bareheaded.

" They are all goincr, Rangi, all the old friends we knew. We have outlived our times, and the old ideals. See what they are doing to the city we loved." " Yes, my friend of other days," replied Rangi. " These times concern us not. let us speak of the days that were, and how merrily we lived." " Of a truth we did, Rangi. Well I remember how you and your tribe would come in your canoes, three score strong. You would camp in this very spot, stay for a week, and sell your produce. Never were there such fat geese and turkeys, such melons and grapes, arid the peaches! Ah! one's mouth waters at the thought! Then your merchandise sold, your sails of mat and canvas widespread to catch the western breeze, you paddled away in the glow of the sunset." "Then the fights, my pakeha, the fights!" broke in Rangi excitedly, his brown tattooed face cleaving in twain in a grin. " They were as breath of life to the Maori. I fought on the side of the white man, because you were friendly to my tribe, robbed us not, and 'moved not, our landmark. llow the war clouds gathered round Ao-tea-roa, that cold, rainy June! " " ' See the stars,' said my native brothers. ' How red they are. It is a sign of war.' The scarlet-belted " Tu," the war god, spoke. The brown man was liappy, he might fight!" ' " Listen, my friend! Can you not hear again the sound of the reveille from the Albert Barracks ? Or hear the tramp, tramp of the soldiers passing the spot where we stand ? The band of the 65th regiment making merry music as they march through the mud to the Queen's Redoubt ? Turn your face to the Waitemata. See you not the Great. White Queen's transports riding at anchor ? Then your big fighting rangitiras—Cameron, von Tempsky, Mercer, Derrom, ah ! they were the fine men ! Brave days for the Maori those! "

" Ye;i, Ranjji, glorious clays for the Maori, but sad indeed for the pakeha and his women. Do yon remember the day the citizens of Auckland were ordered to take the field with Her Majesty's forces ? In the Albert Barracks all was bustle" and excitement. The Militia and our volunteers were ordered to the front at Otahuhu. Do you remember the crowds of citizens who gathered to give ub God speed ? Fathers pressed the hands of sons, mothers tearfully bade their boys good-bye. Mere lads some of them were,, sixteen at the most. Dear little girls in Eokts bonnets came to wave their swcetearts good-bye. How quickly the time slipped by! The bugles sounded the fall in. The command was given. 'Fours right,quick march.' The band struck up a lively air. The sentry at the gate presented arms, the companies marched out, followed by a cheering, surging crowd! So they went, Rangi, the brave boys, as ever they go when there is a cause to right, and women to fight for." " Truly spoken, my pakeha," said the old chief, his eyes lighting up. "The old Britomart guns, my friend, which stood over yonder, how loudly you mado them ta11.."

" Yes, we must have been a reckles3 set of young fellows, we volunteers, for many a time have we carried out practice with shot, shell and canister, frightenkig the good folk at Devonport. They tiavo kept the old guns though, they still mount guard over the city on the erstwhile Barrack Hill. Children play round them now upon the daisied grass, theso grim old guns captured from the Russians in the Crimean War. What changes indeed have sixty years wrought in the city we knew and spent our happy youth in ! " 1 J M Ihe chief Bang; shook his head sadly. It so happens always ray friend, wherever the white man treads. There is no occasion for the Maori to fight anymore." A soul-shattering honk sounded in rnv ear and 1 encountered the face of my young grandson in his two-seater Taking my seat beside him I waved my disappointed brown friend, standing disconsolately upon the kerb, a reluctant farewell.