NOT ACCUSTOMED TO LATE NIGHTS

Te Ao Hou, June 1961, Page 50

NOT ACCUSTOMED TO LATE NIGHTS Our trip home was a pleasant one, what with being the performers of a successful show, and our stomachs contented with the tasty dishes presented at supper time. For many it was the first time they had stayed up late for a long time, especially at this hour of the night. At first our bus was filled with the sound of rich singing, then gradually here and there heads began to nod, until only the throbbing strum of the guitar and the melodious voices of the few gay sparks were left, broken now and then by the odd snore. Later as the bright lights of Waikune shone out of the early morning mist, my tired body felt nothing but gladness, the one people associate with homecoming. Afterwards, curled up in my blankets, half asleep, my thoughts drifted back to the last few hours, mostly to the hall in Taumarunui. What impressed me most? The prolonged applause of the audience at the close, the sad feeling that seemed to cloak my whole being, as the crowd and we sang, Po Atarau, shrouding me into a state of sadness. Or the reply to a statement by one of my fellow mates to another. “Did you see that beautiful young woman about three rows back?” “Listen here, mate,” came the reply, “I've been so long here, they all look like Marilyn Monroe.” But this is what I remembered most of all. Directly in front of us sat a very noted and learned Maori identity, skilled in the art of carving, tukutuku work and Maori culture. My heart cried out silently, that one day Waikune and other institutions, out in country areas, would have men such as this, to visit and teach the knowledge of our ancestors to Maori inmates such as I and the many others, who struggle to keep in time with the march of progress, yet wherever we are, strive to retain our Maoritanga.