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then in his 70s—that he used to be taken by his grandparents to watch for Matariki at night in mid-winter. That was at Kaupokonui, in South Taranaki. The old people might wait up several nights before the stars rose. They would make a small hangi. When they saw the stars, they would weep and tell Matariki the names of those who had gone since the stars set, then the oven would be uncovered so the scent of the food would rise and strengthen the stars, for they were weak and cold. I say ‘they’, but Rangihuna rather referred to the group as if it were one star, and I see that Best says that Maoris spoke of a constellation as if it were a single star—not that the Pleiades is a constellation, of course, but an asterism or star cluster in the constellation of Taurus. I spoke of this in a broadcast in 1958 and I supposed that this was one of the last instances of this old custom being observed. It would have been in the late 1880s or early 1890s. But after the broadcast, a woman told me how her kuia—I presume grandmother—carried on the custom on her own just outside New Plymouth until her death in the early years of World War II. So the custom persisted until say 1941. I was much moved by the thought of the old lady, the last of the last, carrying out an age-old custom which died with her. I mentioned this while lecturing to an Auckland University extension course at which Mrs Winchester was a pupil. Her poem, which I like very much, was based on this reference. My good friend Riwai Te Hiwinui Tawhiri, of Ngati Porou, now living in Auckland and aged 89, told me of a somewhat similar custom, although for a different purpose. A note made on September 31, 1965, says. ‘A ceremony I saw practised as a boy was to seek an omen before going whaling. My step-grandfather, Hamuera and other elders, before dawn, would light a hangi, prepare it and wait for the appearance of the stars called the ‘Seven Sisters’. There was only a token amount of food, usually kumara. They would uncover the hangi when they saw this group of stars called Matariki. If the food was well cooked it was a successful omen. If it was not, it was a warning not to go out, or if they did, not to approach a wounded whale. Those who disobeyed very often came to grief. That was at Otaruia, the principal whaling station between Gisborne and Reporua.’ I must respectfully differ from those who hold the view that traditionally women did not make hangis. In very ancient times they did—in Grey's Polynesian Mythology can be found an account of how Manaia, in Hawaiki, was angry because food in a hangi prepared by his wife was not cooked. He said: ‘Is the firewood like the bones of your brother Ngatoroirangi that you hesitate to use it?’—or words to that effect—which was very insulting and which brought much trouble to all concerned. In more recent times women frequently helped to prepare hangis. An instance is given by Te Rangi Hiroa in The Coming of the Maori, page 376 in which he describes the preparation of meals. It shows that both men and women shared the work. He describes how men chopped the wood and women prepared the vegetables. ‘The commander of each fire, usually a woman, applied a match …’ and also: ‘women poured in the scraped potatoes to above the level of plaited flax bands (pacpae) placed round the circumference of the pit, added the fish or meat, sprinkled more water and quickly covered the mound of food with plaited oven covers …’ And, at least in the places where I have lived, women have often made hangis although I would say that at big gatherings, men appear to have most of the responsibility. Indeed the best hangimaker I know—and the one who taught me how to make one—is my mother-in-law, Mrs Huna Hikaka. Harry Dansey