A VISIT TO NEW PLYMOUTH.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 39, 26 September 1891, Page 411

A VISIT TO NEW PLYMOUTH.

BY

R. H. BAKEWELL, M.D., AUCKLAND.

f REMEMBER a long time ago hearing a very idiotic song, the refrain of which wa«, * Thou art so near and yet so far.’ This is, however, strictly true of New Plymouth. Very few persons from Auckland visit the place, although numbers pass through en route to or from Wellington. The fact is that New Plymouth, or rather Taranaki, is not in great favour with the rest of the colony. We know too well what that province has cost us. Mr Courtney calls it ‘ our dear little province,’ and it is a * dear ’ little province to the rest of New Zealand, though in a different sense from that in which Mr Courtney used the word. Perhaps it is not quite fair or just to visit the cost of the war on Taranaki itself. The old settlers say, and with some appearance of truth, that if the soldiers and the settlers had been allowed a free hand, they would soon have made an end of the war. They declare that they were hampered and hindered mainly by two men, who are held in such high esteem generally, that it quite, shocks one to hear the terms applied to them in Taranaki—l mean the late Bishop Selwyn and Sir .George Grey. I certainly cannot but think that the Taranaki settlers are doing a grave injustice to these two men. It is impossible-to believe that two such men occupying the positions they did, could have been guilty of high treason by aiding, protecting, and abetting rebels in arms against the authority of Her Majesty ; and yet, as I pointed out, this is what they are charged with doing, and that not by one, but apparently by all. However, all that is past and gone—old history—and it is with the present state of things we are most interested. It is really a wonderful thing to gofrom Auckland to New Plymouth and find everybody cheerful, happy, contented, and prosperous, population increasing in the country districts by honest settlement not by crowding into the towns, and the whole place with hardly a house or a shop to let. New Plymouth is a much larger town than I expected to see, and the population is totally different from that of any of the principal centres. Instead of the Babel of accents and languages you hear in their streets, you hear only English, spoken by English people, nearly all either natives of the place, or settlers from the old country. It seems that the earliest settlers all came from Devonshire, and from a very limited district in that county. Gne of them, with whom I had some conversation told me that they had all come from a district about twenty miles square. The conseouence of this is that the younger people all speak good English—not the horrid mixture of Irish and Cockney which is spoken in Auckland. For example, a Taranaki native would say, *lt is a fine day ; I think I shall go out.’ An Aucklander says, ‘ It is a foine day; oi think oi shall go «out.’ This is owing probably to the fact that in these smaller provinces, such as Nelson, Marlborough, and Taranaki, the salaries of school teachers are so small that teaching is not a profession sought after by the children of the lower middle class. There are a large number of gentlemen’s sons and daughters embarked in it, who teach at any rate, good English. The town of New Plymouth is two or three miles from the Breakwater. Yon can go there by tram, or in a cab, or if a resident, on horseback. No resident ever thinks of walking such a distance. In fact, no Taranakian apparently considers walking, except just for a very short distance, or to church and back, as the kind of thing that any sane person voluntarily undertakes. Horses are dirt cheap, and everybody rides or drives. I walked several times to a settlement between four and five miles fiom New Plymouth, and the amount of pity and astonishment this tremendous walk afforded to all who heard of it was most amusing. * And did you really walk back as well ?’ was asked, as if a ten-mile walk was a thing unheard of in the district. New Plymouth is an exceedingly well-laid-out town, bright with recent paint—a sure sign in the colonies of a thrTving place—and I did not see a shabby-looking house or a shabbily-dressed person in it. Work is plentiful in the country districts. I believe they can take on many additional hands at the bush-falling. 1 saw advertisements in the papers calling for tenders, and I was told that any ablebodied man, even a new chum, can get his twenty-five shillings a week and rations at this work. You see no loafers in the streets—none of that dirty, disreputable, shabby scum that settle round the corners in Queen-street, making the pavement filthy with their expectoration, and the air filthy with their talk. The cabmen know how to charge. When I had to leave I took a cab in consequence of having some luggage. From the time the cab arrived at my lodgings, including the time for putting on an overcoat, loading up the luggage, taking it out and putting it in the station platform, was under four minutes by my watch, and the fare was two shillings. ‘ It’s a lot of money for such a short job,’ said Ito the cabman. ‘ltis a considerable sum,’ replied he, calmly, in much better English than mine. I paid him the money, and as I did so I remarked, ‘ It’s the largest fare for suchashort journey that lever paid, and I have been in all four quarters of the globe.’ ‘ Well, it’s according to the tariff, he said. ‘ I’ll immortalize you,’ I replied, at which he laughed good-humouredly. The cab was a hansom. If you insert this I shall send the cabman a copy of the New Zealand Graphic to prove to him that I have kept my word, and that he is immortalized. Naturally 1 thought that the subject of the New Plymouth Harbour Board debentures would be a very delicate one to introduce in Taranaki. I thought it would be like transportationin Sydney, or coloured blood in the West Indies — a forbidden topic. But I soon found that I had no reason to be afraid of wounding the sensitive feelings of the Taranakians by allusions to the unpaid interest. They think 1 the

Government ’is wholly to blame. ‘ The Government ’ have altered the Land laws, and the Government ought consequently to pay the interest. When I mildly hinted that the New Zealand Legislature — not the Government — could hardly be expected to allow legislation on the land question to be arrested, solely in order to enable the New Plymouth Harbour Board to fulfil their obligations, then they promptly replied that the Government was bound to take over the debentures. I told them plainly that this could never be, but that the colonists of New Zealand owed New Plymouth Harbour Board a debt of eternal gratitude for having stopped borrowing. However, nobody seems to trouble themselves about the unpaid interest; they only grumble at the amount of the rates.

They are going in for frozen meat as well as butter. This is a good thing, as it does not do to have all your eggs in one basket. The soil is wonderful. Residents in other parts of the colony may imagine what it is by figuring to themselves a magnificent district with only one liill in it (Mount Egmont), covered by beautiful chocolate soil, like the patch in front of the Free Library, of unlimited depth. There is literally not a stone to throw at a dog in it. I believe they get their road metal by driving into the heart of the little hammocks which lie about the great plain, where they find some volcanic boulders. Anybody looking at a map will see how abundantly the district is watered by streams originating in the mountain. Of course, ‘ the mountain,’ as they call it, is the chief feature in the landscape, and a most beautiful feature it is. The ascent from the land side is so gradual and gentle that the visitor can ride up to the limits of perpetual snow. The soil is so light that it hardly requires any preparation for ordinary garden crops I dug a small patch to warm myself one day, and it really seemed almost superfluous labour. One might have put in cabbages or peas without any digging. The people—those I meet, at least—arethe very best sort of colonists. I should say that the sturdy English determina-

tion which enabled these men to remain during all the troubles of the war time, literally fighting for their lives and property, soon weeded out all the rogues and speculators and idlers, if there were any, and left, by the survival of the fittest, an admirable stock. And now they are reaping the fruits of their toil, and endurance, and patience, and valour. Their land is fetching prices not to be surpassed in the colony, and is rising weekly in value. Settlers are coming from Canterbury and England, and a boom is at hand.

Very different is the reception given to ‘ labour ’ at New Plymouth and in other parts. Mr Courtney’s party, consisting of some families and a number of young men come out to work, were welcomed at a social party, in St. Mark’s schoolroom. The room was crammed. There was no sitting room, and numbers had to stand. The entertainment consisted of music, songs, recitations and speeches. The songs were enthusiastically encored, rather to my surprise, as 1 am sure that any church choir in Auckland could produce at least three voices far and away superior to the best of the New Plymouth singers. They were certainly not up to the average chorus singers in Auckland. [N.B. — I don’t say this for the sake of flattering the Aucklanders. I detest Auckland.] One gentleman sang ‘ The Gallants of England.’ Great Heavens! When I thought of Mr Knox’s rendering of that famous song, I wondered whether the gentleman had ever heard it sung. He warbled it. It was as soothing as a nursery rhyme, and yet he was encored ! And then he came on and sang a local parody on * Far, far away.’ This was irresistibly comic, and suited his plaintive and feeble voice exactly. When he sang, that before the breakwater was finished the present generation would be * far, far away,’ and pointed his finger and lifted his eyes to the ceiling, there were shouts of laughter, and when he sang that the skippers of the steamers that called in at Waitara wished the bar of that port ‘ far far away,’ and pointed downwards, there was another roar. I thought that he might have given us another verse about the debenture-holders who are * far, far away,’ but he didn’t. After the songs and the speeches, in which some very interesting anecdotes of old times were narrated, we had tea, coffee, and cocoa, ami cakes. And ye gods ! what nice cakes they were 1 I have a tender affection for sweet things, though I am an old man now, and certainly those New Plymouth cakes were good, very, very good. And they were served by smiling and lovely young ladies, who would,

I feel certain, speedily console tender hearted new chums who were lamenting * the girl they left behind them.' In fact I saw the process going on in one or two cases in a most satisfactory way. Now in Auckland this would all have ended in a dance, but nothing of the kind seemed contemplated. 1 Hopped until the feeding was nearly over, and I never saw any attempt to clear away the seats, and did not hear of any dance, and as I lodged next door, I should certainly have beard it, or of it. But there was a somewhat Puritanical look about the elderly parties which made one fancy that dancing would not be quite aproved of. The young |>eople, too, seemed far more respectful in their manner than is usual in the larger towns, and I should think would not, as a rule, go out without their parents’consent. I never saw a single person the worse for liquor during the nine days I was there, including Saturday, when the town is crowded by country visitors. Altogether I was delighted with my visit, delighted with the people and delighted with the country. But this article would not be believed to be mine if I did not find fault with something, and here it is. The people are too healthy. I did not pick up a single fee.