Maori Settlement

Korero (AEWS), Volume 2, Issue 11, 5 June 1944, Page 3

Maori Settlement

NEW ZEALAND TO-DAY

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It’s not far from Whakatane on the coast to Taneatua, the railhead of the Bay of Plenty line. Neither is it far on from Taneatua up the Opouriao Valley to Ruatoki. It is a short trip, but a worthwhile one especially if you time your arrival for about 8 a.m. Then you will be rewarded with a sight unique in New Zealand to-day. In front of the cheese-factory and the double-decker store that is Ruatoki’s shopping' centre you will see dozens of old spring carts and an odd four-wheeled wagon standing about the road while their Maori owners hold a korero on the footpath or make their day’s purchases at the store. Between the shafts, strong, shaggy, horses stand quietly, and on each cart two or three milk-cans gleam in the morning sunlight. It’s the end of the “ Milk Cart Derby.” For the last hour or so the carts have been rattling in along the rough roadways leading in from the 120 farms that comprise the settlement. Driven by laughing brown-skinned men and women and carrying, in addition to their load of primary produce, some part of the farmer’s family, they have come from the flats across the Whakatane River, from the rolling hills beyond and from as far as six miles up the valley that is the gateway to the Urewera Country. Oc-

casionally a foal trots beside the mare drawing the cart, and around the crunching wheels lope scores of dogs of doubtful pedigree. From all parts of the valley the threads of the procession have wound in to be drawn into a colourful cloth here in the commercial centre of Ruatoki. Now the work that began at 4 a.m. is for the moment ended and every one is chatting away in Maori and laughing merrily at some local wit while the cans rattle busily down at the factory and the horses stamp on the metal road. The “ Milk Cart Derby,” as it is known to many who have seen it, is the key to Ruatoki. This valley is Native land and is being farmed by the Maori owners with the assistance and supervision of the Native Department. It is only one of the many Native-land-development schemes scattered throughout New Zealand, but it is one of the most compact and successful. Less than fifteen years ago the valley was being haphazardly farmed by the Native owners. Land titles were neither secure nor well defined, and consequently the land was badly fenced. Pastures were poor, and the dairy herds well below the average in butterfat-producing capacity. Housing conditions and the milking-sheds were most unsatisfactory. Nor were the Tuhoe,

the tribe owning the valley, anxious to allow their land to be included in the land-development schemes operated by the Native Department. Not so many years before they had turned back a party of surveyors attempting to survey the Urewera country, and the confiscation of some of their richest lands as recently as the Great War because of local disturbances had made them suspicious of the pakeha. They viewed the approaches of the Government as merely a blind to deprive them of their remaining lands. Space does not allow full explanation of the Native land titles. It is sufficient to say that they are extremely complex, with sometimes scores of owners in a small block of land. Thus a condition precedent to any planned development of the country was the consolidation of interests by the Native Land' Court. Generally speaking, this was done by exchange and purchase of interests. The aim was the establishment of secure titles to economic holdings. Tedious and skilled work, it is to the credit of the Consolidation Officers and the Native Land Court that by 1930 the project was completed. It is to their credit also that they were able to allay the suspicions of the Natives and convince them that their only object was to make waste lands productive and to ensure a livelihood for the owners and their descendants as well as a lasting benefit to New Zealand.

So in 1931, with the consent of the owners, the Ruatoki Development Scheme was undertaken. Thirty-one thousand acres of good river flats and fern and bush clad hills were involved. Some of this land was ready for individual farming, but much of it required clearing, drainage, and general development before it could support families. On the more advanced areas farms of fifty to a hundred acres were established and worked by units nominated by the owners and approved by the Native Department. For these units the Department supplied stock, fencing-materials, fertilizers, seeds, cowsheds, and, wherever possible, better housing conditions. These advances were charged against the land and a proportion of the cream cheque taken for repayment. On the undeveloped land the men and women of the community undertook the necessary work to bring the land into production, being paid from Unemployment Funds for their labour. Most important was the appointment of a competent resident supervisor to assist and instruct the Natives and act as the Department's representative. Under him was a foreman-storeman (now distinct appointments) to direct the workers and handle the issue of stores. Such is a short history of the beginning of the scheme. In 1932 the land produced £1,700. There were about 700 head of live-stock in the area. In 1942 receipts were over £42,000, and the herds produced half a million pounds of butterfat. The “ Milk Cart Derby ” in 1930 was a very small affair. To-day it has more starters than the Duoro Cup. Fourteen years have seen many changes in Ruatoki. The fences whose battens leant towards one another in comradely fashion have been replaced by strong straight fences made from concrete posts cast on the scheme or from posts and battens taken out of stands of timber on the hills. Ramshackle cow-sheds where hygienic milking was impossible, and yards that resembled an Italian bog after heavy rain and a heavier bombardment, have given place to roomy weatherproof structures of the walk-through variety with concrete floors and yards. Instead of rutted tracks, graded roads now give good access to all parts of the settlement.

And they are kept in order by the Maoris themselves. Where once the meandering Whakatane had to be forded in all weathers if the suppliers were to get their milk to the factory, a £IO,OOO bridge now spans the river. Water, essential to every dairy-farm, was once a problem. Now two large dams built in the hills supply every house, marae, and cow-shed. And the deplorable housing conditions that existed when the scheme started have been considerably improved. Where a unit has proved a good worker and his loan account is in a sound position, simple three- and four-roomed houses have been built, and many of these are well furnished and surrounded by tidy gardens. Some of the older shacks are not so attractive, and you wonder how they house the large families that are the rule in Ruatoki. One hundred and thirty new cottages and houses have been built, but still more are needed to house adequately the population of about two thousand.

Yes, there have been changes in Ruatoki in the last fourteen years, and expensive changes, too ! Yet to-day almost one-third of the settlers who have been financed by the Native Department have paid off their loans and are securely settled on the land. Seeing the Settlement Coming into Ruatoki you see first the store which, with a smaller edition, serves the shopping wants of the community. Beside it, is the cheese-factory, whose staff, including the key operators, is predominantly Maori and on whose board of directors sits one of the local farmers. On a large grassed marae behind the store are two meeting-houses. You may be lucky enough to see a hui in progress. Perhaps a welcome home to one of the many Ruatoki boys who are serving with the Maori Battalion. You may hear one of the rangitiras orating in Maori as he walks up and down in front of the meeting-house brandishing his taiaha while the smoke from the ground ovens drifts lazily across the marae. Don’t be surprised if everyone is crying. It is merely an indication of joy at the soldier’s return.

These maraes (there are eight of them — one for each hapu, or sub-tribe) are the centre of the Maori community life. The meeting-houses, carved, carpeted with mats, the -walls hung with photos of chiefs long dead, serve as halls, temporary homes for those who have no house to go to, and Courts of Justice where the Tribal Committee periodically meets to discuss the affairs of the village and try those charged with anti-social offences. There is legislative authority for these tribunals, who have power to inflict considerable fines. They usually deal with drunkenness and minor social offences and straighten out marital difficulties. The fines go to the upkeep of each marae, and the books are audited annually. Here, too, the women organize monthly “ bring and buys ” or hangi dinners at half a crown a time to collect funds for parcels for Ruatoki boys overseas. The martial spirit of the Tuhoes was shown in the enlistments for the Maori Battalion. In Ruatoki itself a Home Guard battalion was raised and none could surpass its members for enthusiasm. In its early days when a new R.S.M. was being tried out there was some uncer-

tainty about one of his orders during parade-ground exercises. He started the order in English, broke into Maori, and ended it in English. The companies ended up in similar confusion. Appealing to his C. 0., the culprit asked, “ What I do now, sir ? ” “ Don’t ask me, SergeantMajor. This is your show,” was the unhelpful reply. Saluting, the S.M. turned away to “ C ” Company which was in the worst fix. “ C Company ”he roared, “ About turn.” His next order was new to any parade-ground. It was : “ C Company. Engage your partners for a waltz.”

On another occasion the C. 0., who thought he knew all the hat badges worn by his men, and they were many and varied, struck one that had him puzzled. When he questioned the owner as to its origin he was proudly informed that it was the parole badge of the Borstal Institute.

Beyond the marae you can turn off and cross the bridge that leads to the farms on the other side of the valley or carry straight on to where a neat cream-house shows up against the green of the paddocks and the red iron of large sheds in the background. This is the supervisor’s home. Beside it is a small two-roomed office surmounted by a weathercock. Set in the well-trimmed lawn in front is a rain-gauge. Accurate weather records are kept at Ruatoki.

To-day the supervisor is a man of Maori blood, a returned soldier of the last war, a competent farmer and adviser on all matters connected with farming and on many not remotely connected with it. His is not an easy job. It needs patience, tact, and considerable ingenuity to solve the many difficulties with which he is confronted daily. A sense of humour

is one of his most valuable assets, for strange tales are recounted to him in all seriousness, and his consultants

■; ' • 1 pose many problems on a wide variety of topics. A half-hour’s yarn with him on '* V the lighter side of life at Ruatoki is a grand tonic. I But his understanding of the '?> Tuhoes, his respect for their customs, his ability, and unbounded enthusiasm have done much to raise his own mana and that of the Department with the people.

An old Maori lady strolls up the path. She want to see the supervisor. Her brother, who was working as a unit on a farm, has died. The supervisor wants to put another man on in his place or perhaps amalgamate the property with another in the meantime. The old lady has no interest in the place, but she has moved in to look after the dead man’s children. Now she refuses to budge or let any one else on to the place. Logic makes no impression, threats are useless, cajolery fails. Her mind is made up. She says she has an interest; the succession orders say she hasn’t. “ All right ” says the supervisor, “ Next time the Native Land Court sits at Whakatane we’ll let the Judge decide.” “ Kapai.” says the old lady, and goes happily on her way. Now some one must be found to milk the cows and look after the property. A situation unlikely to occur in any European settlement, but commonplace at Ruatoki.

The little office, the core of the development scheme, is a model of neatness and efficiency. Its staff are all Maoris. A foreman, long trained in handling men and contracts ; a storeman who sees that all the goods that leave the store are signed for ; an attractive young typist who also acts as records clerk and able receptionist.

Beside the office there are three large sheds where stores are kept and concrete posts and troughs made. There are stock-yards at the end of the paddock and reserve stacks of posts and battens behind the store.

Walk a hundred yards down the road and you’ll hear sounds of song—children singing in pleasant four-part harmony.

Behind the tall trees is a spacious schoolground and a large new school whose class-rooms get all the sun. It needs to be a large school. It accommodates amost two hundred happy Maori scholars and six teachers. From one class-room some are diligently, if vigourously, proclaiming that C-O-N-C-E-R-T spells “ concert,” while in a more advanced standard the headmaster is explaining the mysteries of a newspaper which his students imagined wrote itself. Education here has its own peculiar problems. Every child must be taught English on arrival because little but Maori is talked in the home, and even the shopping at the store can be done in the native tongue. The emphasis is on practical work with a cookery and woodwork department in daily use. All the children belong to one of three “ houses,” each with its own coloured flag. Each house has a weekly turn on duty doing the cleaning of the grounds and school. The girls make vegetable soup each day from vegetables grown in the “ house ” garden. Cakes and pies are also made and sold, the profits being used to pay off, amongst other things, an eighty guinea piano, lino for the cookhouse, two hundred enamel mugs, and a wringer for the laundry. The boys make gates and pig-troughs for the local farmers, maintain the school fences, and do odd jobs about the place. There is instruction in personal hygiene, nutrition, first aid, and baby craft for the girls, and first aid and stretcher drill for the boys. The girls also make their own uniforms, smocks for cooking and sack aprons for cleaning. But the event of the week is bath day. The school has a furnace and two bathrooms, and every child is well lathered in

warm water and then given a cold shower. Quite a job when there are two hundred children to be given a school-girl complexion all over. It also means two hundred clean towels for the school laundry. Physical education is popular, and choral work, poi dances, hakas, action songs, and stick games are all of a high standard with such natural talents for harmony and rhythm in the pupils. A school to tax the ingenuity and patience of any teacher, but one rich in the compensations of humour, the enthusiasm of the pupils and the knowledge that the work is well worthwhile. Movies play an important part in the leisure life of the community, and the Taneatua Theatre has many Ruatoki patrons. An instance of their effect on education was given when the teacher asked Wiri “ What is an oblong ? ” “A man, Miss,” replied Wiri. “ A man, Wiri ? ” queried the astounded teacher. “ Yes, Miss,” Wiri cheerfully affirmed; “ You know, Miss. ‘ Obalong Cassidy.’ ” A dental nurse from Whakatane comes out twice a year to attend to the children’s teeth. They are good, but would be much better, she says, if there was a better diet in the home. It would be hard, however, to better the stoic qualities of her - patients. Above the school on a hill overlooking the valley is the Anglican Mission Station staffed by a European woman and a Maori assistant. A big rambling house, it was used as a girl’s dormitory in the days before daily access to the school was possible. Now the kiddies come from distant parts of the valley on the school bus. The Women’s Church Guild meets here each week and there are Sunday School classes for the children. Farther up the valley is a small church the interior

of which is decorated with carved panels. Nearby lives the Anglican clergyman, also a Maori, who has just returned from service overseas as padre to the Maori Battalion. Many of the Maoris are followers of the Ringatu religion started by Te Kooti, the prophet, last century.

On beyond the school well-kept farms border the road with good houses and bad sitting in their patches of cultivated garden. Where the river has been eating into the land a gang are hard at work strengthening the bank with heavy pine branches sunk and weighted to the riverbed. Willows are planted along the top of this embankment. Cutting across country to one of the houses built by Maori labour you find it well cared for and surrounded by a colourful garden. They have a custom amongst the Tuhoes that once you have been introduced to a family you never knock on entering their home. An hospitable custom, but apt to be an embarassing one. The few pakehas of the settlement usually call out “ Any one home ? ” from a distance to give warning of their approach. The owner of this home has been adding a room or two to house his expanding family and has proved himself no mean carpenter. The home is well furnished ; a sitting-room and bed-room suite, sewing-machine, radio, and rugs on the floor. Photos everywhere ; many of men in uniform.

Around and around a nearby paddock chugs an old lorry with no engine cowling nor any rim to its steering wheel, towing a machine that scatters fertilizer. At the “ wheel ” sits a one-legged Maori who is a genius with engines and who is usefully employed in this and similar work. Some of the houses

around the maraes are the homes of the old people. Many of these are neither well built nor well preserved. Some seem to have been built when the moa was a chicken, and they still house a number of people.

Leisure is no problem at Ruatoki. A korero will always pass the time. Tangis and huis are always well attended. Too well, at times, the supervisor fears. There are pictures down the road at Taneatua. A mild gamble is always popular, one child at school even being known to gamble all the buttons off a new pair of pants. But the week-ends provide the men folk with their opportunity for recreation. The foot-hills of the Urewera Country are alive with pigs, and here the Tuhoe has a chance to indulge his hereditary passion for adventure. With his horde of pig dogs he often collects enough wild pork to feed the family for a week.

Little reading is done, but the radio is popular. Electric light serves some homes handy to the factory, but most depend on kerosene lamps. Ruatoki is a compact and happy little settlement with a better chance for community life than many of the more scattered development schemes. It has its problems. Nevertheless, it is an example of the successful settlement of the Maori on his own lands and of the wisdom of the policy originated by Sir A. T. Ngata and carried on by the Native Department. It is also a remarkable example of transition of a warlike, suspicious people to a peaceful agricultural community. Another transition will probably take place soon after the war. Then trucks will

replace the primitive but useful spring carts of the “ Milk Cart Derby.” Though mechanization may detract from the picturesqueness of the procession, may the contents of the cream it carries never grow less.