MEMORIES OF OLD GOVERNMENT HOUSE

Otago Witness, Issue 3755, 2 March 1926, Page 10

MEMORIES OF OLD GOVERNMENT HOUSE

By Forrest Ross. (For the Witness.) (See Illustrations in thi* Issue.) Very soon Old Government House, that nicturesque and grimy building that elbows its nouveau riche neighbour, Parliament House, will be only a memory. It seems fitting, therefore, that a few sea* u*ed recollections of days, happy and tragic, spent within its walls, should be gathered together before its place is fi” by the stately addition to the present incomplete House of Parliament. Notwithstanding the dignity and beauty of the new building, Old Government House has a oliarm of its own, and its oriental tower and wide red roof will be much missed in the landscape. To the elder generation, too. it has so many associations of bygone happy days—days before the chaperon was extinct and one know t the jazz. Very old residents will have quainter recollections of Government House than I have. The first game of croquet playea in New Zealand vr . enjoyed there, and tl-e graceful art of archery practised. In the happy reign of Lord and Lady Glasgow, their gracious hospitality was much aimreciated, and the musical evenings, when the host sang breezy ballads and t' nruests helped with the entertainment, were the pleasantest of functions, and admirably suited to a young colony. Many happy marriages dated from these reunions. Her Excellency, Lady Fergusson, a small girl, played then in the big rooms, and little dreamt that Fate—a happy chance for New Zealand—would, in later years, instal her as first lady of the land where her childish days were spent. With the Ranfurlys began a more stately regime, and the Countess, beautiful, clever, artistic, and altogether charming—is the most arresting figure in the many that have passed through the old rooms. She loved the life and her home, and filled it with beautiful things from her ther houses—books, silver, china, and pictures—many of the last her own work. Flowers, always, were there m abundance and exquisitely arranged, generally by herself, and she would often entirely change the position of the furniture with her ovm eager hands to gain a more artistic effect. The first ball given by the Ranfurlys was a notable affair. The white walls of the great ballroom—now so reduced in size and so fallen from grace—were panelled for about five feet from the floor with arum lilies and their lovely leaves, and above this, palm branches almost reached to the celling. T! Coun.ss was joyfully surprised at the profusion of these flowers, so costly and so rare in England. Among the greenery were silver sconces with candles, and each mantelpiece and mirror was a mass of foliage and lilies. A mild sensati was caused, in the niiddlo of a dance, by one of these arrangements falling forward and giving the dancers passing by a mild shower bath. The only colour in the ballroom was the daffodil yellow of the satin curtains, but the wide verandah—scene of so many heart-to-heart chats—was a lovely avenue of shrubs and flowers, scarlet poinsettias a.d crimson and amber azaleas adding vivid colour splashes. The younger generation will smile when it learns that at this ball the Washington Post was first danced, and reg.arded with doubtful approval. The children’s dances in that regime were delightful, and little Lady Eileen — Lady Constance was just beyond the age for ’ whole-hearted romping—was the centre of all the fun. At one dance the ballroom was strangely empty, though the band was playing gay music. Lady Ranfurly was wondering where the little guests had got to, when suddenly wild war-hoops were heard from the top of the grand staircase. The small daughter, her shanely legs emerging from ruffles of lace and muslin, came tobogganing down the stairs, followed by a shrieking horde of c’ *’ 7 ren, all more or less dishevelled. It seems long ago when one remembers now that Lady Eileen has children of her own, and Lady Constance gave, only a few weeks ago, a ball for her eldest daughter’s debut!

The quaintest and most interesting function given by Lord and Lady Ran furly was an open At Home. No invitations were issued, but anyone was welcome, and the ordinary habituees were not expected. Maids, charwomen, and whole families from the poorer classes of the town were there, and more orderly, well-behaved cruests could not be desired. When I got to the entrance the Governor’s major-domo said there were thirteen perambulators and twelve gocarts parked round the comer. On en tering the ballroom I saw the beautiful chatelaine, who, with fine courtesy, was gowned exquisitely, surrounded by greateyed children, one adventurous baby sitting oh her violet velvet train, and stroking ecstatically its soft folds. The gdesis wore allowed to mount the stairca-e and wander about the rooms, but natural politeness conquered mischievous curiosity .and nothing was damaged. Major Alexander, his Excellency’s cousin and secretary, was ill in bed, where he was surprised by three small visitors. He fed thorn, with manlike disregard of consequences, with cough lozenges! Other musical and interesting entertainment® were those given to the veterans and the sailors. At these happy evenings the Governor smoked his pipe with the guests, adding his quota to the nvist that floated about the ballroom. Every Jack, as a rule, brought a Jill, and the guests were reallv more entertainers than entertained, for many had

fascinating adventures to recount, and could dance a lively hornpipe or sing a rollicking song. It was all so charmingly homely. One saw an Earl, a Bishop, and an Admiral smoking long clay pipes, and fraternising with veterans and sailors. The impromptu programme was often supplemented by songs from Lad}* Kaufurly or dances from the daughters of the house. Those who were privileged to help at these functions grieved when they were discontinued. A rather stately ceremony characterised this regime, and even extended to the servants hall. On one occasion, when a staff ball was to take place, a deputation waited on Major Alexander to ask his advice on a question of precedence. They wished to know whether the housekeeper or the Countess’s lady’s maid should lead the way to the supper room. Once while a ball was in full swing a fire broke out in the nurseries of the house. Very few of the guests were aware of it, and the programme was ordered to be gone on with. Lady Ranfurly dancod herself, and while we danced we caught glimpses of the flashing helmets of the hitmen as the men hurried along the corridor. Surely of all memories of that time that of the reception to the Duke and Duchess of York, now King and Queen, is the most tragic-comic. Winter is not the pleasantest season to see Wellington at its best, and tha Royal tour took place in June, and a wet, miserable June at that. Naturally the Vice-regal hosts were impressed with their responsibility, and Lady Ranfurly, who had all the Irish superstition, had a shock on the morning of the arrival. Just as the Ophir was steaming into the harbour it was found the pier glass in the room prepared for the Duchess was cracked—an awful omen of disaster. However, it was hastily replaced by another, and happened, but the Countess felt uneasy until the Ophir sailed away on her return voyage. On the afternoon of the reception the weather was diabolical—a vicious southerly, with floods of rain. Owing to the grand staivoase being set apart for the Roval guests the main corridor was nci able to be used, and entrance was gained by the conservatory door, to which there was no carriage drive. The guests, consequently had to leave their carriage at the front entrance and dash, through driving sheets of rain and over drenched grass to the back of the house. I remember seeing stately dames in their finest feathers, with their skirts over their heads, running like deer. Many, when faced with the ordeal by water, never got out of their carriages, but returned home to their own firesides. The dlipping crowd, most without overcoats or umbrellas, gathered in the conservatory, now the tea-room. So heavy was the rain that it came through the o-lass roof, and a damp and dismal queue formed up. The only cheery soul was a man who was wearing his brother-in-law’s frockcoat and tall hat! Forbidden to leave anything behind, smartly dresseu women had to lug along wet umbrellas, raincoats, and goloshes into the Royal presence, and the large invitation card had to be well in evidence. A graceful curtsey, under such embarassing circumstances, plus the natural nervousness, was impossible. One girl dropped her overshoes —an unconscious tribute—at the .feet of the I>uches3, and an old lady nearly put out the Royal eye with the broken rib of her umbrella. In the midst of the reception one of the French windows of the ballroom was pushed up, and a very long, thin man, with a large-framed illuminated address, wrapped in a red and white bedroom towel, writhed his way in. A very damp and disgruntled crowd went home to tea and toast and their own firesides, their loyalty strained to breaking point, ana their frocks and hats much the worse for the ordeal. Later on, the Plunket children, highspirited and adventurous, made merry in the gardens and the house. Once the boy climbed the tower and up the flagpole, ignoring all appeals, plaintive or threatening, to come down. One of the little girls, accepting a challenge, stood on her curly head on the newly-asphalted tennis court —with disastrous results. And then came the change. Viceroyalty migrated to the new Government House, and the old building became the temporary home of our Legislature. In the ballroom, shorn of all its beauty, the representatives sat in semi-circles of seats. The verandah was made part of the room, and along its windowed wall sat members’ womenfolk, so close to their masculine belongings that they could almost touch them, and a wife in passing out could tap her husband on the shoulder, and tell him to come straight honje and not dally in Bellamy's! Entrance to these seats was gained by a short flight of steps and a narrow door, and many is the scrimmage that took place there when a “row” was expected. Women fought to get in ou a gala night, and often emerged into the chamber flushed and dishevelled, if triumphant. It was then a most unconventional House, but pleasant withal. Members were wont to leave their benches t.ad take seats besiijj? a woman, for a little chat as a diversion from political labours. Offerings of flowers and chocolates were frequent in those spacious times, and women, us they do now, knitted and sowed industriously, thoir reels of cotton now and then rolling down as far as the Speaker’s Chair, and being retrieved by a smiling orderly. Most of the messengers in those days were very old, and towards the wee sma’ ’ours—when the women’s seats were empty—l havo often seen one veteran gather the velvet cushions, pile them on the heating pipes, lie down on the impromptu couch, and go to sleep. Unless ne snored, no one seemed to object to his ropose. But there are tragic recollections ns well as humorous. One recalls the dramatic night when the short-lived MoKeneie Government was tamed out, and Mr Massey became Premier. The Hon. J. A. Millar, a dving man, came into the Chamber muffled in an overcoat

over pyjamas to record his vote, and as he walked into the lobby one remembers the cruel term of “traitor” being hurled at him by a member. Very beautiful were the grounds in the olden days. Tree ferns and native shruba almost surrounded the big house, and from tlie eastern side terraced lawns fell away in great broad stops. Along the garden paths there were charming vistas. In a small gully, now filled up and built upon, was an oak planted by the preeeot King. It was transplanted and died. On the sloping lawn facing the great wooden Government House there is still a magnificent Norfolk Island pine, planted by the Duke of Edinburgh on April 15, 1869, when he was a guest at Government House. The shrubbery has long since given place to broader paths and lawns, and in spring and summer gay with many flower-beds. In 1913 when the great strike was on there were many exciting episodes, and at times the atmosphere of the chamber was tense. One night we watched, from the top of the little garden steps overlooking Molesworth street, a crowd of strikers with torches dashing up the hill, shouting vengeance on the Prime Minister and angry threats to burn his house, which, as it was also my domicile at the time, was somewhat alarming. Later on, in my seat in the House close to a window, I suddenly discovered, through spaces where the frosted glass had been scraped clear, many eyes glaring in. The strikers, foiled in their attempts to reach he residence, had entered the grounds of Parliament, and were trying to gain an entrance. During the evenin'* the excitement was added to by the sound of a revolver shot in the corridor. As the ; Prime Minister, as well as others, hail been threatened again and again, there was infinite relief when one heard it was merely an accidental shot and no one was hurt. Parliament has now gained its stately demesne. For years Old Government House has become a very hive of industry. Down the great staircase, where silken trains' used to sweep, pass Ministers and messengers, secretaries and telegraph boys. The room where his Excellency conducted business is the Prime Minister’s office and Cabinet room. The old conservatory has iong been converted into a tea-room, and Bellamy’s has usurped the vice-regal "ning-room. Still on the corridor walls hangs the Irish-green paper Lady Ranfurly chose and delighted in, and two of the great white-framed mirrors, that used to reflect such lovely ladies and gallant men, now 7 hang in the sanctum for members’ wives. It is all very commonplace and grimy; hut under ’ e dingy covering lies the wonderful dance floor —an expanse of honeytinted wood in which the lights and colours of the dresses of long aso threw flickering reflections. So deftly laid was it that, standing still, one swayed to the rhythm of the flying feet. One wonders if, at the midnight hour, the old ballroom calls back the shades of fair women and brave men, dancing to the music of some forgotten waltz across the polished floor.