I Te Tahi Wa na Ani Hona I tuhia ai enei korero e au na te mea kua puta te korero, na, kua whakamutua te kura o Te Wainui. Hore he tamariki mo tenei kura iaianei. I nga ra o mua, tera tetahi kainga; ona iwi he iwi nui, he iwi kaha ki te mahi, nui te aroha—he iwi. Iaianei, he kainga hiamoe, hore he ahua apopo, he aha? He maharatanga, he mamaetanga no te ngakau, he aha? No wai te he? No nga taone nunui me o ratou huarahi makariri? Ko tenei te take i whakarerea ai tenei kainga? Kao. Ehara i nga taone, i te hiahia moni, i nga aha ranei. No tatou anake te he. Ko tenei kainga, ko Te Wainui, tekau ma ono maero te tawhiti mai i Kaeo. E toru nga kainga nei; i tetahi taha ko Mahinepua, i tera taha ko Te Ngaere, i waenganui ko Te Wainui. Ko tenei taku kainga i whanau ai au, i tipu ake ai au. Ko enei aku korero. I te wai i a au e nohinohi ana, he kainga nui tenei, ko nga tangata o roto he iwi ahuwhenua, he kaha ki te whakato kai, ki te hauhake hoki i nga kai nei. Kotahi te reo o tenei kainga, kotahi te whare, ko Ngatiruamahoe. I taua whare nei, tera nga hui nunui, nga Once upon a time there was a village with a name, a fiercely proud people, with a core, a will to survive. Today, it is a sleepy, barely alive ghost of a village. Tomorrow, unless a miracle happens, it will only be a memory. As memories go, it will fade into a blur, then into nothing. Does it matter, I ask you? I think it does. I suppose I could blame the cities for calling the people out of their villages to the cold, concrete streets. But, why waste time blaming the city, money, progress? I could have contributed my little bit to keeping her alive. The village is a place called Wainui, sixteen miles from the nearest town, Kaeo. There are two other villages, one on each side of it, Mahinepua and Ngaere, with Wainui in the middle. I was born and raised in Wainui. I lived there for 13 years; I have seen the changes and I know what I am talking about. When I was young, this was a well-known place. Its people were hard working, planting and cultivating crops, harvesting and storing. Then, there was always one final voice and one house—or rather meeting house. This was and is Ngatiruamahoe. Here I have seen many a large gathering almost monthly, the deaths