MAORI MEMORIES

Taranaki Daily News, 13 April 1935, Page 13 (Supplement)

MAORI MEMORIES

‘"TAURANGA, AWAKEN”

<B.y

J.H.S.— Copyright).

About 200 years ago the Arawa of Maketu desired to possess the coveted district of Tauranga. On the night of a heavy gale, in vivid lightning, and peals of thunder, eight hundred warriors set forth to destroy the great pa at Maunganui. The doomed pa was the crown of the majestic and singular hill on the peninsula, which none who visit Tauranga ever forget. Pride in the Maori associations and their ancient names, so dear to interested visitors, are discarded and forgotten by residents. The spot is now only known as “The Mount.” The intruders, under cover of darkness and the noise of the storm, cut holes in the bottoms of hundreds of canoes lying around the foot of Maunganui on the sandy beach. Having destroyed all means of escape, they rushed the pa, and the work of death began. Those who escaped death ( in their beds launched their leaking canons and were promptly drowned. Thus the remnant of the former people of Tauranga, the Ngati Peke Kiore (tribe of the jumping rats) were driven into the hills. Another Tauranga hapu, the White Kiore (the crossing rats) fled to Tuhua (now Mayor Island), where, in 1835, there were still 170 of them living in peace and the luxury of industry. Yet, despite their ancestors’ ruthless method of securing a certificate of title to their neighbours’ homeland, the Arawas, unlike some tribes, were always known for their fairness to us. They were referred to by other tribes as “Kupu tahi” or upright Even their fighting against us was admittedly straight forward, so far as warfare may The beauties of Tauranga, its climate, splendid and fascinating harbour, and above all its historic names and interest have failed to attract the widespread attention they deserve. The isolation and apathy of the past generation of whites must be held responsible for this. As a first step, the original historic names should be preserved or restored. They hold a world wide attraction, which is not realised by the rustic inhabitants. Think of the millions who were induced to view the desolate fields of Flodden, Culloden and Waterloo through the halo of romance alone.

Ngarara. In 1829, the brig “Haws” from Sydney anchored off Whakatane. Having large quantities of arms and ammunition aboard, she bartered them for a full cargo of pigs and dressed flax. Moving to Whale Island, beside a boiling spring near the beach, they killed, scalded, and salted the pigs into casks. Three men were on board while the captain and crew were busy ashore. Suddenly, a number of canoes shot round the island, and the Maoris swarmed aboard the brig and killed the three sailors.. Seeing this, the captain and crew, having already parted with their illicit arms for ten times their value, fled in their boat to Awa e te Atua, and thence to Tauranga. The Maoris, led by their chief Ngarara (the Reptile) removed everything from the brig and burnt her. A large supply of flour puzzled them, and not knowing its use, they emptied it in the sea, using the sacks as shirts. The Europeans at Kororareka decided to make an example of the treacherous Ngarara, and despatched an armed crew on the schooner “New Zealander” with a Ngapuhi chief Te Hana, who knew him well, and had volunteered to act as his, executioner.

Encouraged by the success of his enterprise against the “Haws,” Ngarara decided to serve the “New Zealander” in the same way. With the usual cautious instinct of a Maori, he first went on board in friendly guise, with the dual purpose of ascertaining the exact position on board, and putting the whites off their guard. The stranger Ngarara spent a pleasant day aboard hearing the, korero hou (news) and bargaining with unusual liberality on his part. His was the last canoe to leave the vessel, his mission unsuspected by all save our Ngapuhi friend Te Hana, who sat on the taffrail smoking his pipe. With the loosing of the canoe’s painter there passed away “an age of sin and a life of crime.” Ngarara—the Reptile—had writhed his last in the bottom of his own canoe, shot by the Ngapuhi chief as utu, in retribution of the “Haws” tragedy, in which he had been the.prime mover and chief participator. Every Maori, from infancy to age, has an instinctive horror of a Ngarara, dead or alive. Maori Humour.

Apart from one’s own mother tongue, there would appear to be a total absence of wit or humour. Wit is the faculty of associating ideas seemingly incongruous; humour is the capacity for merriment, fun, or pleasantry. The original idea that the Scot was dull witted arose from our ignorance of his wonderful gaelic tongue; Similarly we miss altogether the inherent humour of the Maori, unless it is made manifest to us by action. Two recent illustrations are given.

A Hawke’s Bay Boniface, noted for his merry pranks and capacious vest, and a Tauranga vendor of Waipiro, his appreciative friend, who was afflicted with a painful stammer, met for fishing at Taupo each season, where their geniality made them ever welcome visitors. For the first time in ten years, increasing rotundity prevented the attendance of the Napier man, so his Tauranga friend sent him his first big trout. A Maori •boy going to the township carried the fish, a telegram for despatch being laboriously dictated to him by the stammerer. With the accurate memory of many generations, the Maori absorbed every broken syllable, and sent a “collect” telegram of fifty words thus “A-a-a-am sus-sus-sending fuf-fuf-fish” etcetera. That telegram, nicely framed, may still be seen in the bar of the popular host. The second instance of Maori wit in action is well known at Taumarunui. Wiri and Ruru, two brothers singularly alike, each held a share in the original site of that flourishing township, valued at £ll5O. When paid to them they each decided to cable to Henry Ford for the best car obtainable stating that they were “members of a Royal Family,” The luxurious cars duly arrived, and soon became a grave menace on the highways within a hundred miles. Fifty miles an hour was their avowed minimum. Relentless fate ordained that the rival speedsters should at last meet in head on collision. But destiny, ever fickle, decided that Wiri, whose car was slightly damaged, should be knocked senseless and gravely injured, and whilst Ruru’s car was a complete wreck, he came off scathless. Viewing the scene and glancing at his unconscious brother, Ruin at once proceeded to exchange the number plates of both cars, then went to the rescue of the injured brother. Wiri eventually recovered, and six months later, in a drunken spree, Ruru boasted of his “little joke.” Court proceedings ensued, and Ruru’s confession “Pai korry I tort you was tead” was accepted with a smile. The brothers shook hands and shared the surviving car.