A.N.Z. EXPERIENCE AND TRADITION OF SERVICE IS UNCHALLENGED This tradition of service, this background of experience has as its origin the first Bank established in New Zealand. In the 120 years that have passed since then, A.N.Z. Bank has seen the development of farming, the growth of trade, the increase in every New Zealander's need for friendly advice an assistance in the often complex world of finance. Throughout New Zealand, in almost every city or town, there is an A.N.Z. Bank Branch or Agency. Here modern and comprehensive Bank services are offered, services that because of experience gained over the years have been designed to cover every need. Ko te Peeke o A.N.Z. he Roopu whai mona! Koia nei te Peeke kaumatua i Aotearoa nei a nana hoki i whakatakoto te kaupapa awhina i raro o nga mahi tuku moni, mahi paamu whakatu whare me era atu whakahaere i roto i nga 120 tau kua taha ake nei. E ki ana nga kaikorero ma te huruhuru ka rere te manu ara mehemea he whakaaro tou kaua e wehi ki te haere ki te Peeke o ANZ i tou takiwa, no te mea kei reira nga tohunga hei awhina i a koe. A*N*Z BANK AUSTRALIA AND NEW ZEALAND BANK LIMITED FIRST BANK IN NEW ZEALAND

in the district, and for 12 years was the Maori Welfare Officer in Ruatoria. Her funeral was one of the largest in Ruatoria for many years. Before the burial, the cortege paid a brief call at the Uepohatu Memorial Hall, Whakarua Park, of which she had been a board member for many years, the land for the park having been donated by her grandfather. The contrast between the very moving scene at the Hall during her funeral, and the huge welcome party which the previous week had gathered there to greet the Australian rugby team, is the subject of this poem, sent to Te Ao Hou by one of those present. Farewell Journey Rootless the pongas stand, dead, dry, drooping; Over the ticket-box the sign of the East Coast Rugby Union says, Welcome to Whakarua Park. The sharp wind whirls and eddies the brown shreds of treefern, Whips them across the dusty threshold of Uepohatu; And the mourners stand waiting, sad, bereft. Last Sunday the pongas were green and fresh, The haka party stamped and swung lithe limbs, And sturdy torsos swayed with a welcoming beat To the Wallaby Footballers. This Sunday, the dead fronds of the pongas Writhe to the agony, as the mournful chant Wails out on the marae, shrill cadence keening; And the pall-bearers stand waiting. The wind is chill, but the sun is bright with promise. Spring will be early this year. The scent of the yellow wattle. daphne, violets, anemones and sun-gold daffodils Rises from the back of the undertaker's truck. She will not see the spring this year. She will not walk its way again. But her memory will spring like the fragrance of the blossom, Her years of service be her living monument.