Untitled

Te Ao Hou, December 1967, Page 12

due to leave for England in a fortnight, agreed to give a recital at the home of Mrs Smith Hampshire before departing. Naturally Wanganui was surprised that there was nothing doing as yet. The Hon. Vincent was in his prime, just thirty years old and Waikura seventeen. Perhaps he would yet scoop the pool. Mrs Smith Hampshire's drawing room or ‘salon’ as it was described by those privileged to enter, was a high-ceilinged room which comfortably held eighty people while another twenty or so could listen in on the wide porch along one side when the French doors were thrown wide. Maori mother and daughter both tastefully gowned in silk received the guests with the hostess, and both salon and porch were packed to capacity the afternoon of the recital by the Hon. Vincent Vingloss. Naturally those of note in Wanganui's musical world were present besides a leavening who qualified with an ear for music because of a nose for money. As with any other feast, a feast of music provides varied fare. At some everybody is happy if able to neat the feet to what is provided. Many people ask only for rhythm peppered with music. Simple harmony is the dish of others or perhaps a good singsong warms the cockles of their hearts. And there are those who are attuned to hear the murmur of the music of the spheres. Those who interpret and are enraptured by the symbols, the dots and dashes of those great masters who projected their minds out into the beyond and found music which is out of this world. The recital opened with a series of Chopin Nocturnes, in fact it was a Chopin Recital, and at the conclusion of No. 19 in E Minor played with great poignancy, many of those present were dabbing the corners of their eyes, while one widow of about thirty cried uncontrollably and was comforted and led from the room by Noti: which confirmed that sharing is essential to great emotional joy. But while this emotional aftermath continued within the salon, on the porch was a chorus of Wanganui's financial maestros, some of whom were sensitive to symphonies which from distant echoes swelled to mighty music before receding out to the stars, while all of them, being humans of some calibre, were particularly alerted to a financial tide and the rise and fall of interest rates. The leader of this group whose morning coat had shaded to a conservative greeny tinge, was known in Wanganui as ‘half-per-cent-

extra’ since borrowers discovered that his dearth of funds was not real but fancied, once an extra half per cent was suggested. That there was music in the makeup of ‘half per cent’ was evident, since the moment the last notes of the piano had died away ‘half per cent’ took up the theme of a large block of Maori Land which could change hands for a song. Which led to a muted but intense discussion about Polynesians. How little they understood business and business ethics. The way they handed over or ‘leased’ land to each other on the Eileen Mavourneen principle. The way they whacked up the tucker, even among their enemies, when food was in short supply. No, Polynesians had not a clue about turning a profit when the conditions were ideal and as for paying interest, they were simply hopeless. All of which was true. But nobody among the Pakehas mentioned that Polynesians were reluctant to pay interest because any surplus was never advertised for good reasons, and that the Chiefs and Rangatiras in control of the Tribes had flat tight pukus (stomachs) if the rest of the people were that way. That wild, predatory forays to restore economic balance when an adjoining tribe was flush with food and goods, although frowned upon by Pakehas, were not unknown to them; but that the Pakehas performed primitive acts in a gentlemanly manner with frock coat, kid gloves and belltopper hat. A business opponent was cornered, not with savage yells, but with a handsome proposition and during a shinning match good manners were maintained. Then one financier present, momentarily forgetting things nearest his heart for the lighter joys of music said: ‘What I cannot understand is how any Maoris can pretend to understand the involved and difficult European music in the way our women-folk do. I think its beyond them. What do you think Doctor?’ A Doctor on the outer edge of the group had heard all and said nothing. He wasn't an investor, collecting as a rule about half his fees. But he was a student of human nature and Polynesian people in particular, and he loved music. The Doctor looked at the group and then said softly: ‘I think that the two Polynesian ladies are lovely women, that Noti is wonderful, and both are very musical. At the same time I would not favourably advise the Hon. about marriage to Waikura. She is much younger and her demands could be too great in the near future. For when Mother Nature produces a creature of such great beauty and energy she also stimulates her reproductive urges with almost everything in nature. For instance, even beautiful scenery will …’ But at this stage the glorious tone of the grand piano resumed its heart-stirring to those who had ears, and the conversation ceased. After the Hon. Vincent had played another number he called Noti to him and said softly: ‘Noti, if I may call you Noti, there is a slight continuous background noise in the room, quite noticeable in the rests. It is worrying. Do you think you could find it?’ ‘Yes,’ Noti answered. ‘I have heard it all the afternoon, even above fortissimo passages, it will be the ‘Nuwhero’, probably one in each of the vases either side of the piano.’ And before the astonished eyes of the Pakehas who had heard nothing beyond the music, Noti's sensitive fingers plucked a tiny insect no more than half an inch long from each of the vases. ‘Let them continue their mating calls out in the open where they belong,’ laughed Noti, as she put them both on a shrub in front of the house. Before leaving for England the Hon. Vincent was married at the pretty little church at Upokongaru, which sits on the riverbank a few miles upriver from Wanganui township, with just a few friends in attendance, and the lovely Waikura was bridesmaid to her mother, Noti, who was some six or seven years older than the bridegroom.