‘TIPNEY’

Tu Tangata, Issue 10, 1 March 1983, Page 26

‘TIPNEY’

by Te Paki Hone Te Aho Cherrington

“Look Cherrington do you know this ‘Tipney’ character he comes on your bus doesn’t he?” “Yessir. He lives at Pipiwai, about 20 miles further out from me.” “Well, I’d like to talk to him. He’s been bunking again. Would you go and find him for me— 4E Room 18.” “Yes sir. Ah, excuse me for saying so sir but his name isn’t ‘Tipney’, its pronounced TEE-PE-NE, the ‘PE and ‘NE’ as in ‘HAIR’ without the ‘R.” “Is that so? Just go and find him for me then.” Poti was related to me and I often felt envious of him because he was a fluent Maori speaker. Whilst I could understand generally, I stumbled along, if I had to reply at any great length. Poti truanted a lot and I was usually sent to find him for Mr Webster who would hand out another detention for not having a note. I didn’t always correct teachers who mispronounced our names but it always brassed me off. Hell, they would get an-

noyed if I continually said theirs wrong “Morning Mr Weebstair” “Morning Mr Fitiheed” “Morning Mr Beekeet” Yes, they’d get annoyed. Mr Webster pronounced my Christian name correctly, probably cause his son did. Jim was a prefect too and in the first XV. Groups I spent time with would slowly learn to say it correctly. “You can say ‘Muck’ can’t you?” “Sure” “Well, replace the ‘M’ with ‘P’ and add the ‘ee’ sound Puckee but its spelt P-a-k-i. That generally worked. If it didn’t I’d say, “Just call me Puck, as in ‘Puck of Pook’s Hill’ by Rudyard Kipling. Even now I’m not sure whether that does belong to Kipling. Anyway, I went off and found Poti. We chatted as we walked back. He’d been at a tangi on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. He wondered why I wasn’t there. Dad had gone with Uncle

Tono and I’d stayed at home. Poti didn’t have a note. He shrugged and said “The bugger’ll give me another detention.” “You want me to tell him about the tangi.” “Nah I walked in and sat at my desk, Mr Webster continued writing on the blackboard. Poti stood rather embarrassedly shifting his weight from side to side. Mr Webster kept writing for another couple of minutes and then turned, put his chalk down, looked at Poti and roared in his stentorian voice “Well boy! What’s your name?” “Tipney, Sir.” “See!” said Mr Webster glaring at me.