Some Impressions of Waipawa.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XXII, Issue 4102, 11 September 1900, Page 4

Some Impressions of Waipawa.

(By “ The Vagrant.”)

“ Musselburg was a borough when Edinburgh was none ” we are told by the truthful historian. “Waipawa was a town fifty years ago,” says one of the old inhabitants of the place. I believe it. Judging by the unpainted buildings, the broken fences, the ramshackle dwellings to be noticed as one wanders about the town, the evidences of declension and decay that are visible on all hands, Waipawa must have been a town many years ago—and has progressed but little since. True, there aie a few up-to-date shops with stocks attractively displayed, a few pretentious dwelling houses, with well kept gardens. These, however, are but as an oasis in the desert of desolation which is visible on all hands and serve to accentuate the forlorn and out-of-elbows appearance of the place. In the centre of the town I find vacant sections, rookeries, that would be condemned in a city that had any regard for sanitation, and yet we are told of the healthful conditions of life to be found in the country. I suppose it is a matter of opinion. While in Rio Janeiro, when the yellow fever was raging, I had it constantly dinned into my ears that Rio was one of the healthiest cities in the world. Perhaps so; but yellow fever is not the kind of health one hankers after. Judged by first appearances Waipawa is not a prosperous town. But appearances are often deceptive and Waipawa may be, and often is misjudged by the shabby exterior it presents. While trudging along the road from Waipukurau I was overtaken by a son of the Emerald Isle, with whom I completed the walk into Waipawa. He knew Hawke’s Bay well and related many ancedotes about its prominent residents. At one time he held a commission in a crack regiment, but a Jove of the Turf had been his ruin. “ Ever been to Punchestown races ” he asked. “ I was driven there by Mr Pigot in 1870,” I replied. We soon established a cordial acquaintanceship as we recalled names known to both of us. “ And so you know Mr Gubbins, of Ivilfinnane, County Limerick, he queried in reply to an observation I let fall. 1 answered that I had the pleasure of the acquaintance of Mr James Gubbins, of Cush House, and of his sons, Father Ted, as he was familiarly termed, and Dr. Robert. Mr James’ brother, Captain Gubbins, was also not unknown to me, I admit. “ Ah ! those were the times and those the people,” said my companion, “ real ladies and gentlemen.” “No stuck up nonsense about them.” “Why these colonial gentry have no ancestors my boy.” “ Only progenitors,” and then he railed at Fortune.

We crossed the bridge and sooi: found our way into the Empire. Instinctively we drifted to the bar. which was well filled, Maoris predominating. Somehow, I have nevei

“cottoned” to the native of New Zealand, and even in my shabby, out-of-elbows condition I entertain a repugnance to rub shoulders with him. I admit all his good qualities. His generosity, bravery, intelligence, his antipathy to continued exertion, his sporting proclivities, his partiality for gorgeous raiment, and his praiseworthy resolve never to pay the dog or any other tax—but—l don’t like him. It is a case of “ I do not like you Dr Fell, the reason why I cannot tell.” To-night the Maori is in his glory. He has money and he is spending it right royally, in a fashion that commends itself to his untutored mind. In one of the rooms a number of persons are playing the ancient game of forty-fives as though their lives depended upon the result. A noisy, thirsty crowd they are, who seek this means of throwing off dull care and who, perhaps, lay the flattering unction to their souls that they are “ seeing life.” It takes all sorts and conditions of men to form a world. Some years ago a group of us were smoking in the St. Nicholas Hotel, New York, when a band of street musicians struck up an air from “ Genevieve do Brabant,” an opera that was the rage of the day. Emily Soldenc had made a great hit in the leading part and had all London “ masherdom ” at her feet, while the gendarmes’ duct, given with inimitable humour by Wallace and Marshall, had caught on like wild-fire and was whistled and played on barrel organs everywhere. I hazarded the remark that the street musician’s lot, like Gilbert and Sullivan’s policeman’s “ was not a happy one,” when an English gentleman present held a contrary opinion. He contended that the occupation was remunerative, and to prove his assertion, made a bet that he would play upon a flute, from which instrument he could extract much melody, down Broadway for two hours, during which time he would take up two dollars in collections. Ho set out, faultlessly attired in a frock coat, tall hat, white vest, striped trousers and patent leather boots and soon collected a crowd around him, as he “ tooted ” airs from

“Norma,” La Traviata,” and “The Bohemian Girl.” At the end of each tune he went round with the hat and in less than the specified time he had won his wager and returned to the hotel followed by an admiring crowd, who regarded him as a mad Englishman. This was an English gentleman’s idea of “ seeing life,”so maybe these card players are in their way imitating their betters.

As we lounge about in an aimless fashion I am pointed out the establishment of the merchant prince of Waipawa, which has a solid appearance. The owner, I am told, has much land. His flocks and herds are numerous and valuable. As tho possessor of fat kine-and lean kine Abraham, whom ancient history informs us was “ some pumpkins ” as a pastoralist, could not “ hold a candle ” to him. He is a type of the early

settler, whose greatest capital was ■ brains. As his affairs thrived he invested money in land and is now a prosperous gentleman. But the highest credential he possesses in the eyes of my sporting acquaintance, is that of being the owner of Merganser, “ the finest mare ” he asserts with much emphasis, “ that ever sported silk on a racecourse in the colony. If I had owned her, my boy, it isn’t tramping the country I’d be now.” Did you ever hear of her performances,” he queried. I admit that I have little knowledge of matters pertaining to racing. . “What,” he shouted in tones of incredulous astonishment, “ never heard of the performances of Merganser? Never heard of her winning the Great Autumn Handicap with the thumping weight of 9st 81b on her back and cutting out the distance in 2min 35| sec.” “ Why, it was a wonderful performance my boy.” “ Then look at her winning the Otago Cup in 1892 and the Hawke’s Bay Cup in 1893 ” he rattles on. He tells me of the races won by Blarney and other horses of the stable, but I pay little heed to his remarks, for racing interests me not. On the other 3ide of the road stands an old Waipawa resident, best known as “The Professor.” He wears a tall hat and a velvet jacket, a strange combination of the fashionable and the artistic. It always strikes me as incongruous to see a tall hat worn without the accompanying frock coat. Perhaps it is the association of ideas and the result of early training. I enter into conversation with him and as I make a trifling purchase he offers to show mo over his establishment. At 45, Phillip street, Sydney, there stands a shop known as “Noah’s Ark,” and the collection it contains fully justifies its appellation. So with the Professor’s miscellaneous assortment of goods. He has potions and pills, groceries, tobacco, and odds and ends of all descriptions. The Professor can “ pitch a yarn ” with the best, as my readers are no doubt aware. As we stand at his doorway an agile gentleman passes, whom I am told is one of the old residents of the place, who has made a competency, and is known to his associates as Flynn. Not from Virginia does he come but from Ireland. A great authority is he said to be on euchre, forty-fives, and “ all wool.” Kindly, genial, and with an accent racy of the soil, he takes life as it comes and has no cause to be anxious of the morrow. Another old identity is pointed out to me standing in front of his store, quietly smoking his pipe and I begin to believe that the whole of the residents are “ old identities ” who have done well, and that is the reason the town lias not progressed. However, later on, I have my illusion dispelled and hear in many quarters that the retrogression of the town is due to its land-locked position. “ Sheep to the right of us, sheep to the left of us, sheep in front of us baa and bloat,” said my poetic informant, “ and not an acre of land to be had , for love or money.” “ How is the town to progress ”he fiercely asks. I admit that I cannot solve tho problem and suggest that the prop that all lean upon in this colony—the Government —should be approached on the matter. “ Approached !” scornfully retorts the advocate of land for the people. “ Approached !” he wildly cries, “ why, we’ve approached them often enough.” “ We’ve formed | deputations; we’ve presented peti- , tions; we’ve driven them round the country like lords and bought , whisky for them, and—where are , we.” I ventured to suggest that we are in the paradise of the working man, the glorious colony of New Zealand. Heedless of , my mild remonstrance he cont tinued, “ but the Government will fool us once too often.” “For 16 , years they have promised to cut up [ the land about hero and if they don’t do it soon they’ll lose this seat, as . sure as I’m drinking a glass of Jull’s . beer.”

In the evening I drop into one of the billiard rooms to pass an hour. Now, I know tliero are many respectable persons who have an antipathy towards such places and regard them as the portals of the nether regions. Ido not share their views. During my wanderings I have come to regard billiard rooms with affection. Many a time have they afforded mo a temporary resting place and warmth gratis , and an opportunity to converse Avitli my felloAv man. In country places they serve the purposes of a club, without the necessity of paying any subscription. Though occasionally gambling may be indulged in, as far as my experience goes, and it is a pretty extensive one, such is the exception and not the rule. Though I am virtuous myself, I would not rob others of their “ cakes and ale.” The usual crowd is seated round the room watching tho game. One onlooker is mentioned to me as “ The Merchant.” He is said to be a regular “ hustler.” Woe betide any unsuspecting and undetermined traveller who arrives by train Avitli a Gladstone bag in his hand, for before he is aware of it “ Tho Merchant ” has bundled both into his cab and is on his Avay to town, Another gentleman, with a jovial countenance, Avliom I should say appreciates the good things of this Avorld, is expressing his opinion on the Avar, and it is an emphatic one Avithout doubt. Nothing half-hearted about him. He is a true loyalist, thorough and sincere, and he has the utmost contempt for all Avho hold' a contrary opinion to his OAvn on the subject. A “ book fiend ” listens to the conversation Avitli evident interest and remarks to me that the discussion will serve as a good advertisement for him, for he is canvassing for an up-to-date edition of the Boer war. I prick up by ears, for I’ve had a little experience in the canvassing line

myself. “Arc you one of the numerous band the Oceanic Publishing Company, of Clarence St, Sydney, send out, I enquire. “ What do you know of the firm ” he asks. “ Well,” I reply, “ I was in their employ for a few

days, and I hope your experience of canvassing is more pleasurable and profitable than mine was.” Mr Me Neill, the head of the firm offered me employment when my capital was at a low ebb. I could start out either with a book, secular or religious, or try my hand at getting orders for enlarged photographs, at which he assured me, I could make from £5 to £lO a week. Having the artistic faculties rather fully de veloped, I chose the enlarged photograph branch of the business, and after carefully conning the precepts contained in a little pamphlet entitled “Hints to Canvassers” Avhich he gave me, I set out Avith visions of making a fortune in a few weeks. My opportunity has come at last, I thought. Not only shall I enjoy the fruits of my labour but I shall be the Apostle of Art. Throughout the breadth of sunny New South Wales shall Ibe knoAvn. The walls of every mansion and cottage shall be adorned Avith enlarged photographs of the owners’ dead relatives and their living friends, plain or coloured, the latter for choice, because I was to get a higher commission on them. One blistering hot morning I trudged along loAver George Street toAvards Circular Quay, Avith my specimen photograph under my arm. It Avas the counterfeit presentment of Mr Edmund Barton, Q.C. I took the boat for Watson’s Bay, and on arrival there at once began business. I opened a gate, walked up the garden and knocked at the door, which Avas opened by a sour-visaged old Avoman. I had mentally rehearsed the first “ Hint to Canvassers.” I now carried out the instructions. “ Madam,” said I, politely raising my hat, “ it’s a pleasant morning.” This was an “ odious, wicked, damned lie,” for the sun was broiling, but I was letter perfect in the instructions and did not vary them to suit the occasion. The reply was not reassuring. “It’s terrible ’ot,” she said, vdiether in gentle sarcasm or not I have never been able to determine. I noAv endeavoured to carry out instruction number tAVO. “AlAvays get inside the house,” ran the instruction, “ never stand talking on the door step. When you get inside you are more likely to book an order and can explain your business better.” Excellent instruction ! Simple it seems. But I failed to carry it out satisfactorily. Just as I was about to step within the house a terrier appeared upon the scene, and began snapping viciously at my legs, much to the delight of the old lady, Avho encouraged him in his nefarious designs by such exclamations as “ Shool him ! seize him, Tiny !” I have a natural antipathy towards dogs, and this Avas more than I could bear, so Availing my chance, I landed Tiny a kick under the jaAv and sent him spraAvling in the middle of a floAver bed. This 1 roused the old lady’s temper and she became abusive. “ Clear out at 1 once ” she shouted “or elso I’ll get the police.” “ Don’t come here hawking your pins and needles, for I don’t want them.” I did clear out, for • Tiny had pulled himself together, and looked like renewing the attack. I made ray Avay to the pub. and spent the remainder of the day droAvning my sorrows in the flowing boAvl.

I find I have rattled on unconsciously and the space at my disposal is filled. On a future occasion I hope to complete my task.