A REMINISCENCE OF THE FLOOD OF 1868.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18805, 6 July 1929, Page 23 (Supplement)

A REMINISCENCE OF THE FLOOD OF 1868.

TEMPLER’S ISLAND JUST MISSED INUNDATION.

(By R. 8.) Prior to 1868, my father had taken up a block of land on Templer’s Island, over the main stream of the Waimakariri. The land was in its native state, and on it were patches of flax, tutu, and fern, the latter breast-high. Most of the land was covered with excellent native pasture. The south end of the island included a piece of terrace, left by the river during some bygone, cutting down floods. On this terrace my father had a three-roomed dwelling built. Then he shifted us, my mother and three children, up to this wild but interesting place, known as the Island. We had cows, horses, pigs, fowls and turkeys to attend to, and we had a good cattle dog and a rough-haired terrier for hunting or digging out wild rabbits. My father being in business in Christchurch, came up on horseback on Saturday and returned on Monday. At that time I would be about twelve years old, and I had been taken away from school in Christchurch. I had a good quiet horse to ride, and soon got to know the country to the north and the safe places where the river could be crossed. I had cows to milk, and my mother made butter. The butter I took to Christchurch once a week, when the river was fordable. I carried the butter in a covered wicker basket called a butter-morn, and brought back certain requisites from the stores. The heavier things my father would bring on Saturday. It was rather a wild life for youngsters, but healthy and interesting. Sometimes my brother and I would ford the smaller streams, feeling our way by using a pole, and thus reach isolated patches of flax and fern, where rabbits and young wild pigs were to be found. Sometimes on moonlight nights we would go to a deep place on the river and fish for eels. At other times my father would set us the task of grubbing out Scotch thistles. As the months went past we boys learnt a good deal from Nature, and became weatherwise concerning nor’-westers. All went well until the great flood came. We generally left our beds quite early, and on this occasion the noise of rushing waters led us to dress very quickly. To our alarm and surprise, when we went outside a wild, turbulent, disquieting sight met our eyes. Water was raging all around us, and the terrace on which our house stood was indeed an island. Dead sheep and cattle and 1 'lystacks and trees were being carried down by the great, turbulent, muddy river. It was a fascinating but disturbing sight. Of course we were much alarmed; my mother seemed to feel it most. We, however, after all, had cause for thankfulness, for all our live stock had got on to the terrace, probably before the great rush of waters came down. Anxiously we watched the great flood, and wondered when we should see Christchurch again. After some time the river gradually began to go down, and as it receded it left a sea of mud where good pasture had been. After a day or two we began to realise a possible shortage of provisions, so I proposed that I should try to get to Kaiapoi, where it might be possible to purchase meat and bread. So, taking my quiet horse, and carrying a sack for the provisions, I rode away in a north-eastern direction, crossing some streams at safe places. I made fair progress until I came \o a place where a bridge over a side stream had been carried away. Some one, however, had put a heavy plank across the break. So I tied my horse to a willow tree, walked over the plank, and slowly went on to Kaiapoi. It was a tramp through mud for the most part, but I got there and managed to buy a hind-quarter of mutton and a large cottage loaf of bread. With these in the sack and taken over my shoulder, I got back to my horse, and after surmounting some difficulties, got safely home again. A month or two later we all left for Christchurch, the flood having scared both my parents, and my interrupted schooling was continued there. The great 1868 Waimakariri flood was, to me, a great experience—one that could never be forgotten.