that as a child living close to Taumarunui Pa I had always envied the Maori children their wonderful way of ‘belonging’. Attached to the school-house was a magnificent orchard, and above the orchard, relief workers employed on building the new road had their camp. The teachers were generous with the fruit, and I often heard them say they would gladly give apples to the men if they would ask. However, men are boys and orchard raiding was ever attractive to boys, so the relief workers came in the dead of night and took what they wanted. I remember the senior teacher standing on the stile, shouting into the silent night. ‘I know you are there. I know you can hear me. Call yourselves men, stealing from defenceless women!’ I like to think now that the children of those men enjoyed the fruit. It was a luxury to the relief workers in the 1930s. Today there is no river boat, and the little Chinese store will have fallen down, and perhaps there is no school in Koriniti. Has the school house gone, and does the wonderful orchard run wild? Is the tree still there, where the men came to sit on Saturday afternoons, listening to the football on the teachers' radio? And if I walked onto the old marae where I found friendship and understanding and comfort, would there be anyone at all to remember me?

Me He Manu Rere “Me he manu rere …” I don't believe it But it's true ‘There they are Little brown bodies Little white bodies Grave serious faces and gesturing arms Tiny swaying bodies … They sing of love With such unknowingness — White and brown — The no-barriers of Very young youth —’ Precious Faceted — Golden-glowed — Dinah M. Rawiri