would soon be saying goodbye to her grandson. At times she was glad he was going to be a doctor, but it was such a long way from home that he had to go. Still he was a good boy and she did not want him to finish up working on the boats or in the streets as others from the village had done when they had sought work in the city. She thought that was wrong—“The Maori belongs on his land,” she would argue, forgetting that there was no longer enough land for them all. Granny could not realise that Maori boys had to go to the cities for education and employment. To her, the city was an evil or a luxury (she did not quite know which) created by the Pakeha for the Pakeha only. But Granny was wrong. And now Rangi was talking to his son, “Get stuck into those books boy; plenty of time for the pictures. It's a busy place in the city.” Rangi briefly recalled his own days in Auckland. He had been working in the Freezing Works there for a while—for experience he always said. It was sure some place—especially for the boy from the backblocks. There were pictures every night, dances, parties and plenty of girls. That's where he met his wife. Poor old Hine—killed in a taxi accident. When she died the city seemed strangely empty and Rangi took Tuhou back to the farm—far away from the bustle and row of modern civilization. Yes, Rangi had lived in the city; Tuhou was too young to know it but Rangi knew it well and did not want his son to fall into the traps that could

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be awaiting him. “And don't forget to keep warm,’ he was saying. “They say it's pretty cold in the South Island.” The car stopped at the main road. It was a lovely morning with just a slight breeze. “Here it is!” The bus rounded the corner. Tuhou picked up his coat. Rangi began unloading the car. “Well, goodbye boy;” it was Koro. Strangely enough, Koro had wanted to be a doctor when he was young. He too had done well at school and was a natural student. But in those days it was very different. His people would not let him go too far away from home. Besides that they were all a little suspicious of doctors. The local chap—Dr Adsett was a great old chap but the old people in the pa were a little afraid of his medicines. Koro grinned; they were funny then. “Look after yourself down there,” he went on, “and work hard. We all want you to do well with your studies. Goodbye boy.” His firm hand, toughened by years of hard work, shook Tuhoe's. Now it was Rangi. “Keep warm down there Tuhou. Let us know how you're getting on won't you. Cheerio. Look after yourself now.” Tuhou forced a “Yes” as he grasped his father's hand. He felt that funny feeling inside again and his throat seemed to be in his mouth. Granny put an arm around him. She was crying. “Now be a good boy down there. Don't go round with those bad boys—some of them are not very nice in the city. And don't forget your church Boy; try and go to church when you get time.” Now she took his hand and squeezed a crumpled ten-pound note into it. “Keep that dear. I saved it just for you. Goodbye Tuhou, God bless you boy.” She kissed him. Inside the bus, Tuhou looked through the back window. The three of them stood there waving. Tears were flowing down Granny's cheeks. “Haere ra e tama” she called but the noise from the bus drowned her. Tuhou waved back and kept waving till the bus suddenly turned a corner and they disappeared. He had fought to hold back tears. Now he turned round and took in the view of fleeting trees and cows. The engine droned on; conversation buzzed around him; cigarette smoke drifted into the air and circled curiously out the window; someone coughed. Tuhou had left the country. He had left his home and was going to another place—almost another world. He was leaving a quiet, happy world with its own melodious language and entering a busy, noisy world with harsh sounds in every corner. He felt very lonely as he gazed out of the window—almost like a love bird on a long migration to another country. He had left the nest. It had been hard to say Goodbye.