South-east Asia, whom we are trying to help, and feed, and protect; but don't let us forget our nearer neighbours in the Pacific.’ Sir Bernard concluded his address, as he began, in Maori, thanking the people for their kindness and the warmth of their welcome. In the New Zealand Herald next day, an editorial writer agreed that, ‘… The races work together, play together, drink together and fight for common causes together, but their home lives are generally distinct and separate. The one may fear that any overtures on his part would be rebuffed as condescension; the other that initiatives by him would be rejected as presumption. ‘The social barrier between the races is not one of colour, but one of differing traditional behaviour patterns … ‘… Sir Bernard Fergusson says the two races cannot approach each other on the street and say. “The Governor-General says we ought to have each other to tea. Come to tea.” ‘Perhaps His Excellency underrates his own influence; perhaps we have ignored for too long the direct, the simple, and the obvious approach.’ Perhaps we have!

The Gov's Got Something Walking down Lambton Quay the other day I met a relative of mine who had been back amongst his many kinsmen in the Bay of Islands and he was full of news. It struck me that he thought he was still in the main street of Kawakawa with its rail-track running down the centre. For my ears were assailed by a raucous greeting, ‘Hey boy I want to see you.’ I replied, ‘Well you're looking at me.’ He grinned ruefully, shook my hand and said ‘The trouble with you boy, you've been too long in Wellington and you've forgotten how to live. You've become a real city slicker just like some of our bones living in Auckland.’ I was rather nonplussed—he'd been pretty close to the mark. I endeavoured to pass off his remark by changing the subject and politely asking, ‘How is everybody?’ ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘they're still breathing.’ He went on, not giving me the opportunity to respond, ‘You know, e hoa, I was at Waitangi the other week and I heard the Gov speaking. You know boy, there's no doubt about him. He's a beauty. He talked about us and you know I didn't get my wild up. Usually when I hear someone talking about me I get very hot under the collar. On rambled my teina. (I hope he doesn't read this for he will claim that he is my tuakana. Anyway he's never heard of Te Ao Hou magazine so he won't know unless my other relatives inform him). ‘You know, e hoa, his talk struck a responsive chord in my memory! Bet you didn't know that I knew that word, ne!’ ‘No,’ I replied. ‘As I was saying,’ remarked my kinsman, ‘that speech reminded me of what happened to me when I was a young fellah in Auckland about twenty years ago. I'll never forget! I left home to work in the city. Remember the old people, how upset they get whenever you leave? Anybody would think you were going to die. ‘Remember my old Kani Papa who brought me up? He was a real man and he seemed to know everything. I'll never forget him. As I was leaving he said to me, “Well moko, don't forget the things I've told you. Remember them and you will be safe”.’ On reminisced my teina. ‘Well as I was telling you, I went to Auckland. I hadn't been long in the job, about a month I think, when I got a ring from a Pakeha asking me to go out to his place for dinner. He said that old Kani Papa had written to him telling him I was in town. You know, eh boy, I didn't know that old man could write a letter, and I got a heck of a surprise to find that he knew any Pakehas. But I should have guessed it for