The European encounter with Maori place names: some notes on early spelling

Turnbull Library Record, Volume 14, Issue 2, 1 October 1981, Page 100

The European encounter with Maori place names: some notes on early spelling

JOHN O. ROSS

During the course of examining documents and charts related to our precolonial maritime history, the writer has been led into taking note of the attempts of the early mariners to render in the written language the Maori place names they encountered on the coast. The following listing makes no pretension to comprehensiveness, but may serve as an introduction to a little-noted but fascinating aspect of our early history: the phonetical variations in the Maori as it was heard by the first Europeans to visit the coast, and may even serve to encourage other writers to a study of local dialectical variations. They are also a delightful and often amusing commentary on the Maori language as it was spoken in precolonial maritime circles. The explorers began the process, but only warily. Abel Tasman, after his disastrous encounter with the inhabitants of Murderers’ Bay, did not seek enlightenment on place names by further contact with the Maoris, and geography was spared a Dutch interpretation of the language. The visits made by the Spaniard Malaspina, and the Frenchmen Surville, Marion du Fresne and D’Entrecasteaux were of too short a nature to contribute anything in the way of Spanish or Franco-Mao n variations and, like so much of the coastal record, the business of acquaintance with the Maori place names began with James Cook.

His eminent biographer, Dr John Beaglehole, admitted that Cook ‘was not very good with Maori names’ and the conclusion must be that Beaglehole was right. Historians and geographers are still at odds over the origin of his Tolaga or Tolago Bay at the mouth of the Uawa River, and are just as mystified over his Tegadoo or Tegadu for Anaura Bay. As he progressed around the coast, Cook experimented with a few other examples, such as Tringo Boohie (Tarina Puhi), Kahoora (Kahura), Vanua Aroa (Whenua Aroha), Koamaroo (Koamaru) and Mata Houahoua (Matahoua), improving, one feels, as he went on, but his tongue was well twisted with Te Mata a Uranaki, of which Cook’s interpretation of Tomatooneauoorano must surely take second place to a certain Welsh railway station. It was perhaps not surprising that after that, Cook displayed a preference for good solid British names, with a diplomatic

sprinkling of names of Admirals under whom he had served, and with whom, after all, he might well do so again. The Frenchman Duperrey, rather more than his earlier fellow countrymen on the coast, at least tried to come to grips with the Maori place names. He started well enough with Manawa Tawi for Manawa Tahi or Three Kings, and even if the origin of his Waha Roa might be obscure, one might even prefer it to Great Exhibition Bay as it is today. As with so many others, Duperrey experienced difficulty over those Maori R’s, resulting in Oudoudou for Ururu, the Maori name for Doubtless Bay, and he might even be forgiven for Lac Morberri for Lake Omapere, for other Europeans stumbled over that apparently simple name. Duperrey’s Ipipiri was his rendering of Puriri, for the Bay of Islands, and Motugogo for Motukokaku or Cape Brett may have derived from Cook’s journal where Cook had it as Motugogogo . Taria for Tareha (Point), Totatta Nui for Totaranui, and Ohou Aora for Houhora might be accepted as reasonable approximations, and his Toudakacha for Tutukaka deserves full marks, but some of Duperrey’s place names are less easily explained. These include his Outhahah for Aotea or Great Barrier Island, Poukarrakarra for Pukawakawaka, Pouha Vocare for Whakaari or White Island, Teahowray for Portland Island and Mataoua Maou for Cape Palliser, and while his Wanga Paraoa and Wai Apou are readily indentifiable as Whangaparaoa and Waiapu, Duperrey was geographically astray in locating those names at East Cape and Hawkes Bay. Further south he offered a charming Katchakow for Kakakow (or Mokinui Island) off Stewart Island, and in the same vicinity gave Fenouaho as the French version of Whenuahou, or Codfish Island. Dumont D’Urville who followed, did much to restore the French balance. In the extent and integrity of his cartography, D’Urville was second only to Cook, but he did rather better than Cook in seeking out the Maori place names and recording them with commendable fidelity; in places even replacing Cook’s British names with the original Maori.

One could hardly argue, for instance with D’Urville’s Witi Anga for Whitianga, or even with Wangari for Whangarei. He had, as did many others, some difficulty over Hauraki, which he recorded as Shouraki, but while he was in the Gulf was meticulous in recording Rangui Toto for Rangitoto, Wai Heke for Waiheke, Po Nui for Ponui, Motu Tabu for Motutapu, and had Pakatoa accurately for that island. He even got Tiri Tiri Matenga correctly and, in a brief visit to the Waitemata, identified it as Wai Tamata and its north shore, Takapuna, as Taka Poini. D’Urville was perhaps a little uncertain over Rangaaunu Bay which he put down as Baie Nanga-Ounu and, like Duperrey, called

Doubtless Bay Oudou-Oudou, a double rendering of the Maori Ururu. His Rakau Manga Manga for Cape Brett, and his Baie Tofino for what seems to be Arkles Bay or Little Manly are something of a mystery, while his Roebuck for Ruapuke Island is a sheer delight, not attributable to William Dampier. After D’Urville, one might have expected rather better of Fournier of the Heroine, but his principal contribution to the place names was Tokolabo, his version ofWhakaraupo, the original name of Lyttelton harbour. However, by the time Fournier arrived, the trading era was well under way and it was with the early traders that the business of name-dropping really began.

It started in the Bay of Islands, itself a name they could hardly tamper with, but they had a field day with the local place names. The first anchorage the early whalers used in the Bay at Te Puna, became Tippoonah, Tippanah, Tupona and sometimes Tipuna\ later they moved across to Paroa Bay, which they called Paroo or Parro, and when finally they settled for the bay of Kororareka, it was variously rendered as Koradica, Koradika, Kororadica, Koradira and even as Corroradickee. The Waikare Inlet appeared as Wycaddie, Wycaddy, and Why Catty, the neighbouring inlet of Kawakawa might have seemed straightforward, but it had its variations in Cowa Cowa, Koua Koua and Kowa Kowa\ Okiato was called Okiarto, and that first seat of British authority, Waitangi, appeared as Wytangy and Why Tangie. Perhaps the best of the whalers’ contributions to the geography of the Bay of Islands were Tare Pecker, for Tapeka Point, and Terriers for Tariha Point.

Even the missionaries, though they endeavoured industriously to compile Maori vocabularies, had their moments of doubt. Marsden himself was never quite certain whether his first mission station was at Rangihoua, Rangihoo, or Rangee Hoo, while one visiting shipmaster managed to translate it as Eangehoo. When the missionaries moved across to Kerikeri, it was recorded in their correspondence as Kiddi Kiddi, Keddi Keddi, Kiddy Kiddy and, nearly right, Kiri Kiri. The mission station at Waimate appeared as Wyamati, Whymatti, Wymatty, and Whymatty, and Paihia uncertainly as Pahia, Paiea, Paihea and Pyhea. North of the Bay of Islands, one early cartographer inscribed a mysterious Didi Houa as the correct name for the Cavalli Islands, but another claimed that Didi Houa was Stephenson Island, off Whangaroa, and the early mariner-linguists revealed their uncertainty about Whangaroa itself with Wongalore, Wangaroar, Wangarawe, Wangaloora, Wangarowa, Wangaroo, Wangarooa and, getting closer every time, Whangeroa . Mention has already been made of the French explorers’ Ouddodou as their version of Ururu or Doubtless

Bay, but at least one English mariner did little better with Hododo. It was to a future Governor of New South Wales (King), that we owe Moode Whenua as his interpretation of Muriwhenua, Maori name for the North Cape.

As the traders moved south to Hauraki Gulf, there was a great deal of difficulty with Hauraki. At first they evaded the issue by using Cook’s ‘River Thames’, but when eventually they faced up to it, it appeared as Shouraki, Chouraki, Showrakee and even as Show Racky, while one cartographer settled for Ourangi. Here in the Gulf, other place names suffered at the hands of the would-be linguists. Great Barrier Island (Aotea) became Otea, Little Barrier (Hauturu) appeared as Shouturu, Tamaki as Tekmaki, Motu Korea as Motu Corea, Mototapu as Mote Tappa, Motuihe as Motoeehee, the Waihou River as the Wy Yow, the Wairoa River became the Wyrooa and also appeared as the Why Roar, Mahurangi became Maurangi and the noble Waitemata was the Wy-de-matta. As trade reached the East Coast there were new harbours and new variants to be added to the coastal geography. Tauranga appeared as Touranga, Towrenga,, Tou-rongher, and one mariner asserted that correctly it was Souranga. Nearby Whakatane suffered silently as Walketanna and Wackytana, Maketu as Muckatoo, the anchorage of Waikokopu off Mahia became plain Cockapoo, and Ahuriri, the original port of Napier, appeared 3isHauridi and Ouridi.

But an all-time record was set when the timber and flax traders moved on to the west coast and crossed the bar of the Hokianga, and collecting variants of Hokianga can become something of a diverting pastime. Hokianga has appeared as E O Kianga, O O Kianga, Shooke Hanga, Chokehanga, Jokee Hanga, Joke Hanga, Sucheeanga, Sucheeanghee, Shokey Hanga,Juki Anga and Sucheihanga. Marsden tried to bring some order into this confusion by naming the place the Gambier River, but the traders and others would have none of that and went right on producing yet more variations on the same theme, with Okanga, Okinga, Shoukianga, Shookianga, Shukehanga and Shooukianga. They were approaching the target with Okianga and Okeanga, and at last the truth dawned, but only reluctantly one feels, when they produced Ho Kianga. Here on the Hokianga in 1834 an observant visitor, Edward Markham, enjoyed himself hugely with the elusive place names on the river. He identified Moetara’s pa at Pakanae as Parkunugh, Omania variously as Hoemi-neigh and, even better, as Ho-mi-nie, while Omapere, the lake, following Duperrey, became Morberee and Morberry . Kohukohu was shortened to the Coco, Otarehau to Markham was Otterigo, Hokianga’s Waihou became the Whyhoe, the Waima the Waimar, and Motukauri the Mouta Cowdy . Others apart from Markham had trouble with the Whirinaki, which

appears as Widely Nacky, Winy Nacky and Widinake, but Markham must surely go to the top of the class for his rendering of Mauparoa as More Power. As the European contacts spread along this west coast, other harbours fell victim to mutilation. The little harbour of Whangape, north of Hokianga, appeared as Wangappy, Whangapi and even as Wanger Paye, Aotea as Autia, and Kawhia rated several variants as Corfia , Corfea, Kawia, Kafia, and Kajfia. The Manukau was identified as the Manikow, Manoukou, Manoukao and Manacao, the Kaipara as Kaiperra, Kipera and Kiperra, and the noble Waikato became variously the Wycatto, Wycata, Wye-Kotto, Wicatto, Why-coto and Why Catto.

Further down this coast, the Mokau River appeared as the Mocow and as the Mukou, Waitara as Wy terra, and when John Love and his whalers installed themselves at Ngamotu Pa, near present day New Plymouth, they called it Nummo for short; Ngati Tama became Naughty Tamma, but the prize hereabouts must go to the early trader who translated Puke-Rangiora as Bucharancoala. When the whalers moved across to Kapiti Island, one might have imagined that the simplicity of its hard consonants would have made it plain sailing, but not a bit of it; Kapiti became Capiti, Capati, Cabite, Capertee, Kappatee, Cabooti and Cobarty, while others, somewhat oddly, heard it as Kasiti, Cavity and Kafute. Mana, too, might have seemed safe from whaler variants, but even Mana was translated as Manno, Manna and Mama. On the mainland hereabouts, Waikanae became Wyka'ni, Wanganui appeared variously as Whanganui and Wangenui, Manawatu as Manewetu, and the great Rangitikei deserved better than Rangiticky. Porirua suffered the same fate with Poriwero, Pororoa and Purrarua, and Cape Terawhiti too had its variants of Terra Witte, Tarawiti, Terowite and Teerawittee.

When the colonists came to Wellington they had much difficulty in deciding whether the beach on which they first settled was called Petone, Pitone, Pito-one or even Petwoni. When they moved across the harbour it was, according to one writer of the day, to settle at Te Arrow, though the more venturesome of them set off across the surrounding hills to Wye-noue-omata, others to the Waidarappa, Waiderippa or Widerup. A few, however, elected to remain in the Hutt where they settled on the banks of the Heretonga (Heretaunga) and the Wywatu (Waiwhetu).

Across the strait, when John Guard and his whalers settled at Te Awaite in Tory Channel, it quickly became known as Tar Whitey, or Tar White for short; the nearby Pelorus River, known to the Maoris as the Hoiere, on an early map became the Oyerri and, on another, the Owerrie. The Nelson settlers, undecided whether the

harbour on which they settled was Wakatu or Whakatu , called it Nelson Haven instead. Those who moved across the bay to another smaller harbour, Motueka, called it Mota Aka or Mowtuaka; others chose the Moutere, which became the Mooterry to some. Over in Nelson itself, one settler writing home about the young township described it as being on the banks of the Myetai (Maitai) River. Down on the east coast of the South Island, Kaikoura appeared as Kai-Kora and Kowkoula, although most early mariners on this coast preferred Cook’s ‘Lookers On’. The early whalers soon discovered the several fine harbours on Banks Peninsula. They quickly discarded Fournier’s Tokolabo for Lyttelton, preferring Port Cooper instead, and Hempleman, the whaler who settled at Piraki, and his men were undecided whether to call it Piracky, Peracka or Peeraikie, Ikoraki became Ekelacke and Icollacky, while Akaroa, itself a corruption of Whangaroa, appeared as first Wangaloa, Wongaloora, Wangaloar, then as Acheroa, Ackalore, Angaroa, an incredible Hacarurah, while Selwyn insisted that properly it was Hakaroa. Oahoa, also on Banks Peninsula, somehow received the odd interpretation of Oashore, while nearby, the former little seaport of Kaiapoi appeared as Coy a Pou.

Otago, like Akaroa, is also a corruption of the more phonetic Maori Otakau, but even Otago could not avoid its own corruptions of Ataga, Otargo and Otako. The nearby little harbour of Purakanui appeared as Poreakenui and, hardly recognisable, as Bourracon. Perhaps predictably, there was difficulty over Waikouaiti, its whaler settlers calling it Waikowitti, Waiko-waiti, Wycutti, Wykawhitey and even Wycavette. Along the coast Moeraki, too, had its variants in Moracca, Morackey, Moraki and Moerangi. South of Otago, another early whalers’ coast, the Taieri was the Taiari or the Tyaree, Waipapa appeared as Whypopo and Waipoppa, Tautuku as Towtuck, andToetoes, itself a corruption ofToitoi, was in turn corrupted as Tortois, Tee Tows and even as Tetowis. D’Urville’s Roebuck for Ruapuke Island has already been noted but others, too, had their several versions of Ruabouki, Rouabouky, and Roobooki, while one early trader, weary of it all, settled for an abbreviated Bouca.

This note records some of the identified early spellings of the Maori place names, but there are a number which defy explanation. Where, for instance, was Tettua Whoodoo, Wykeeno, Kameemy, Kearadier, Naturawey and Toogoo Modee Mootoo ? Even after some years of exposure to the vagaries of extraordinary spelling, one could still harbour the suspicion that a colleague’s enquiry for the location of Isonducky was a gentle leg-pull. It remains unidentified.