OLD DICK.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4467, 21 September 1901, Page 2 (Supplement)

OLD DICK.

A CHARACTER. SKETCH,

(By A. Oliver.)

(Written for the “N.Z. Mail.”)

Poor Old Dick' ; ho was one of the old school which is fast passing away. He came out to New Zealand in the Tory in 1840. When he first came to the star tion ho was, as he said himself, on the shady side of seventy. He was a queer built figure, much beneath the usual height, with gray, scanty hair, and a stooping gait, for which the boys gave him the sobriquet of ‘‘Old Headfirst.” My husband was away frpm home at the time, and tho cook, who had been with us for years, became suddenly ill, and unfit for work. My two children—babies, in fact—took up all my time. I was really in a fix; five hands to cook for in the kitchen, and often visitors calling, “One afternoon 1 hoard a knock at tho back door. Upon answering it I saw Old Dick with a swag on his shoulder and a small billy in his hand. “Good day, Missis,” said he. “Is the boss at home?” “No,” I replied; “my husband is away. What do you want?” “I Wants to know if I can get a doss down to-night, and if there’s any chance of a job.” “You can stay to-night, and welcome. Como in, and I will make you a cup of tea.” ~

“Thank you,Missis,! feel mighty tired; I ain’t so young aa I used to be.” _ Ho slowly took hi s swag from his shoulder, and sank wearily into a seat ; near the door. I made the old man as . comfortable as I could. The cup of warm tea and fresh scones and butter seemed to refresh him. I left him for a while to attend to some household duties. Up- ■ on returning to the kitchen he was lighting an old clay pipe at the fire. “I hope you ain’t got no objection to .. smoke, Missis,” he said, politely, as ho caught sight of me. “Oh, no, smoko away as much as you ■ ' like; I know what a comfort it is to many,” I said. “Thank you, Missis; if you will show me where I am to bunk to-night I will put my swag out of the way.” I directed him to tho men’s whare. After a short time ho returned to the v- bouse, and asked if he could do anything r-r to help mo, intimating that he never liked to see a woman doing kitchen “ work when there was a man about. “Perhaps yon have had a wife of your 1 own,” I said. “Yes, I have, and a good ’un she was, , too; we had eleven. children, then she took sick and wasn’t able to do a stroke of work for more than four year. That’s over thirty years ago. She was quite „ helpless. I would bo glad if the old woman was sitting by the fireside yet though she couldn't move only as I

, shifted her.” His old cracked voice trembled as be spoke of the wife of bis youth, the mo. '■ n : : 'ther or bis eleven children,_ who bad '" l . been in her grave for over thirty years. I felt drawn towards the old man; it seemed so hard, after knowing what it to have the love of wife and child--1,1 ron also the comforts of a home, to be , homeless and friendless, carrying his few worldly possessions on his back, looking for work. , , “You never married again," I said, 'after a pause. \ “No, Missis, I never seed any one I oauld put in my old woman’s place, and :-'I wouldn’t like, whenl see her in heaven* (that’s if I gets there) for her to know that I ever gave another gal her boots to wear.” ' ,

-1, ' He had a quaint, dry way of expresa‘UT' : ing himself, which attracted, while it amused. “Have you no children, left who would take care of yon now you are getting too old to work?” I enquired., “Well, I’ve got four sons and two daughters, all married, and some of ’em "‘ “ prr .„y comfortable. My oldest boy, Jack, , ( ’ is' a shoemaker in Christchurch. I doh’t • get on very well with his wife; and two of ’em is on stations in Canterbury. My daughter Polly is married to a carter in \ 'Wellington; I goes down to see her : sometimes, and she’s always glad to see the old dad, as she calls me. But to live v ' off ’em, not if I knows it, while I can earn a crust for myself.” ' ‘ As he spoke he drew up his small, spare figure to its' full height, with great dignity. I could not help admiring '■'r the 1 independent spirit of the old fellow, _ though it provoked a emile. .- j.' ...- jj e was much taken with my lyo little c ‘- girls; the Baby seemed to take qnite a fancy to him, and sat contentedly on his ■ '"-knee. i “Perhaps you won’t believe it. Missis,” he went on, “but I’ve seventeen grandchildren, and the’re all in New Zealand.” “Indeed, then you have done much to increase the population of our country, 1 am sure you ought to be proud of

it.” “Oh, yes. Missis,” said he, “I think I’ve done my duty that way. and they be all ' a credit to me they he.” ■" ’ t7 I am very glad to hear it. I only wish .a*"- we could say the same of all colonial- ' - bom children.” : -I began to prepare the evening meal. "■»—l knew I should have the station hands coming in hungry at six o’clock to tea. “Ain’t, you got a cook?” he askedpr*> sently. “No,” I said, “I only wish I could get one,” and then I explained my difficulty to him.

‘‘l’m juet your ; man,” he said, rising - quickly, and sitting baby on the floor. “I’m a cook; I’ve been cooking on sta- •■ • tions for the last thirty year.” I was in doubt about taking him on.

In the first place he was so old; and, > 'again, station hands, as a rule, are very hard to please. They expect everything to be.firet-claas, or there is no end of grumbling* I have heard that it is an Englishman’s prerogative to grumble; I am quite sure that station hands think they have the same right. Many a time I have proved it, to my cost. After "*• thinking the matter over for a few moments. I decided I would let him stay It would be far better thA having no one; and he could assist me in the rough work, , until I could get a cook from uw '-‘ Masterton, the nearest town. So I told him ho could stay for a day or two, anyhow, adding that ho must be tired, and ■ .. asking him if he had come far to.day

“Oh, only from Ohonga. 1 came from Mataikuna yesterday; I was cooking for gome scrub cutters at Castlepoint, but I beared the money wasn’t sure, so I left,” . be replied carelessly, as though tramping nine miles a day over hills and along a sandy beach was nothing. -■■■■ "You must bo very strong; why, most j men of your age would be unable to walk it, without carrying blankets on their backs.” i - “Oh, I’m a tough ’un; I don’t feel so .extra tired. I’ll turn to now, if you like.” I little thought what a rod I was preparing for myself. The next morning, when I went down

to see about breakfast, be quietly told jne he didn't want any orders; be knew .I''. what bo was about.

I left him “monarch of all he surveyed,” quite expecting to receive a volley of complaints tho first time 1 saw any of the men. To my great surprise no complaints were forthcoming. I said nothing, thinking it wiser to let sleeping dogs lie. Everything went - on in a satisfactory manner. Meals were B erved at regular hours, and properly cooked. Tne kitchen and storeroom were kept clean and sweet. Old Dick was always goodtempered and willing if left alone, but i I went to the kitchen door to make any suggestions (orders were out of the question), I always received the same answer, “I knows my work, I don t want no orders-” This was always said in a civil sort of a way, difficult to resent.

I remember one winter we had a protracted spell of wet weather, rain and sleet day after day. It was impossible to get the washing dry. One .afternoon, seeing a large fire in the kitchen, and no cooking on hand, I placed a wooden, frame used for airing linen before it, hoping to get a few articles I needed for the children’s use dry. I left them there quite contentedly, and went about my work. Going into the kitchen later on. to my surprise I found frame and clothes pushed into the storeroom. As I needed the things badly I remonstrated with hl “Dick, I want those clothes dry for the little ones.”

“Kitchen ain't no place to dry toga ; when I cooks I wants plenty of room.’ “If you let me place it like this there will be plenty of room,” said I. suiting the action to the word; hut Dick would have none of it. “You’ve got a siftin’ room of your own. you can dry them there.” I could see it would be useless expostulating, so T had to take them away and dry them as best I could. Dick had seen stirring times. He had been one of the settlers that were present at the dreadful Wairau Massacre, near Blenheim. He would sometimes tell how the river ran red with human blood, and the mud formed from the same stuck to their feet as they fought hand to hand with the Maoris, as they battled liko demons, mad with thirst for human blood and revenge. • Dick had an old flint musket. His wife ran after him, picking up round stones and carrying old,nails, to be used as ammunition. I remember how he made the boys laugh when describing how he wounded an old Maori woman in the thigh with a rusty nail from his musket. He hopped round the kitchen to illustrate his narrative, concluding, he said: “Yes, that’s the way she hopped, and if she hasn’t stopped she's hopping yet.” He had a quaint way of his own, which kept his hearers interested and anxious to hear more. He had a grant from tho Government of some Crown land, as he was wounded in the encounter; but it went, like everything else he had been possessed of. When Old Dick had earned enough to have a “draw,” as he termed it, everything would go -syrong. “Missis,” he would say, “did the boss draw out that cheque for me before he went to "Wainui?” “No, Dick; did you ask hipi to do so?”

“Yes, and I’ve asked him for it four times now. When a man earns his money he ought to have a draw.” Well, from the time he asked for it until he got it our menu was very mono--tonous—mutton, , potatoes and . sour bread. The men grumbled. I remon* strated. It was no use. I could not cook anything myself. If I wanted baking; soda, or anything to make a change of diet, there never was any—he had used the last a week ago, and forgotten to put it down in the store list. Eggs, not one on the place; that blooming cowboy had been round the nests and suck, ed every one of them. He had seen the empty shells lying about himself. It was of no .avail. Try all the dodges I could think of, he always circumvented me somehow. There were always thunderstorms in the cooking department un<til ho obtained his draw.

I always tried to put the evil hour off as long as possible, but come it must, and I was the one who had to suffer.

“Now, Dick,” my husband would say, “here is your cheque, if you .will insist upon having it. Some of the pedlars will be round shortly. Get yonrself some clothes and a warm rug for the winter.” ■ :

I always found that I had to provide these when the time came. ' “All right, boss;” he would say, “I’ll lookout for that.” But as soon as the men were away at their work, and my husband out on the run, Dick was off to the nearest hotel, and unfortunately there was one about half a mile from the station. He would stay away while the money lasted, and it was all the same to Dick whether there was any cooking done or not, while the dreadful thirst was oh him. If he had not received all that was due to him we had, no peace until ho had another draw. At times we tried to convince him that he had drawn all that was coming to" him—tobacco, matches and other things he had from the store taking the otjher. But it was useless. Dick knew to a half-penny what ho should have, and no argument would convince him otherwise.

Sometimes Dick would desert us for a ijveek. sometimes less ;; it all depended upon how many were about the hotel for him. to stand, treat for. He used to boast that he could never drink alone. “I ain’t one of those mean coves what goes behind the door and swipes.' I believes in everyone having a share.” Dick was quite indifferent whether the “shout” (as he called it) was returned or not, as long as the money lasted everyone was welcome. If any of the loafers heard that Old Dick had made a draw there was a stampede for the hotel—/‘free drinks, gratis, for nothing,” as I heard the cowboy remark one morning. After his carouse was over, Dick would come home, very limp and shaky, and also very penitent. . , “I doh’t know how it happened, mum,’ he would say, “hut I just went down to get a drop o’ rum for my'stumnuck. I don’t think they keeps good grog there, it goes to your head so quick.” Sometimes. after one of his bouts, X, would hear a step in the passage, and a knock at the sitting-room door. Upon my saving “Come in,” the door would slowly open, and a shaky voice _ would ask, “Please, Missis, do you think the boss has got such a thing as a drop 9’ spirits in the house; I feels bod and I would be better if I had just a taste before I starts the men’s dinner.’’ :

I always complied,. as the poor old fellow looked like a limp doll. He had a trick of raising his little finger, when putting the glass to his lips. and hever omitted to give the toast “3£ia Ora.” Whenever I have read of the Duke of Cornwall making use of it, I always thought of Old Dick, and the impressive tone in which he uttered it. He would go back to work, and in a few days everything would settle down to its usual routine. .

A more despotic monarch never reigned than Dick in his own dominions.

His great weakness was an old clay pipe, the more discoloured the better. He called it his “dhudeen,” though if any

one suggested he was of Irish origin he would quickly contradict them, and not always in parliamentary language. I went to Wellington for a few_ days, while he was with ns. and-wishing to make the old man a little gift, I paid seven-ancLsixpence for a cherrywood pipe. When .giving it to him I said “Now, Dick, Tam sure that will he far nicer to smoke than that old black thing you are using now.” “Thank you. Missis, you are very kind, but I always thinks clay pipes are sweetest,” was all tho answer. I might have saved my seven and sixpence. He never used the pipe, and I heard afterwards that he gave it to the head shepherd for half a pound of tobacco. He stayed with us for four years. Many a time, and often 1 gave him to understand that I did not require him any more, hut he would never take the hint, and I did not like to turn the old fellow away forcibly. We had no Mr Seddon in those days to grant old age pensions. Neither had we an Ohiro Home for the destitute, though I doubt if Dick would have consented to remain, if he had been sent there, provided there had been such an institution. When tho station was sold the hands drifted different ways. I never saw Old Dick again. He died a few years after at Fcatherston, where someone had given him a home. Who can doubt that he has rejoined the wife he had mourned for over forty years? Surely such fidelity would'not go unrewarded!

Perhaps some of the readers of this sketch may recognise the old man,- whose character I have endeavoured to pourtray. Ho was well known for many years in the Wairarapa, and also on the East Coast. And, as I said before, he was one of the old school which is fast passing away.