ence when she sat down. We were all with her — helping her spiritually. It was indeed a noble gesture and maybe a very difficult one, for Hine is the kind of woman who would face a battery of guns without blinking. It was a tense moment when she stood up, right hand shaking as she leaned heavily on her stick, to address the meeting. We realised as never before, her dedication to our Maori race was real, was genuine. Her words will never be forgotten. As she looked over the audience and raised her eyes to include the upstairs gallery, it was a sweet embrace — as she urged us all to continue the work she was so concerned with. She was there against her doctor's orders — but her sense of duty was so great she felt she owed it to her members to come at great discomfort to herself, to explain her reasons for resignation. The greatest tribute to any woman was enacted by members when the audience rose as one and sang from the floor ‘He puti puti pai’ — a beautiful flower indeed, a tribute of the heart from every one there. Emotional, spontaneous and delightful and grand — something we will never forget — we would not have it otherwise. That feeling of aroha for Hine was evident as members filed up and spoke to her. Eve Magee, Waiariki

LETTERS Dear Editor, I liked what the Ombudsman Sir Guy Powles had to say about ‘Maoris and the Law’. I'm I suppose one quarter Maori and three quarters Scot, my Gran being full Maori; but I'm white—with quite a few brown descendants. So I see discrimination as much among the brown as amongst brown and white. But of this I do not wish to speak, for the young of any colour—and all their problems—are dear to me. It's this ‘being white’. When applying for a State house which I got after three years, I had to supply references, as to my honesty in payments of rents and other debts; name of prior landlords—from which a record of my desirability as a tenant could be assessed. Having at that time six children of my own and three relatives' ‘motherless ones’ I was fortunate in that my well-trained family had kept homes occupied by us in good condition. So there was no trouble there. So I put it to you—I've seen white peoples homes in a filthy condition, I've seen otherwise too. My Maori friends married to whites keep spotless homes. I've seen the same with some Fijian and other Islanders' homes—but not all. Broken windows, uncut lawns, give evidence enough to put any landlord off accepting these as tenants. So I say to you, be fair. If a white person must show credentials, others must do the same. I was at the chirstening of my great-grandchild a month back — part Fijian and part Maori—by marrying back into the race. There were over 150 guests—only about seven of us white and the Minister and wife. We were evidently novel, me at the head of the main table, and the other great-grandpa, an Islander, at the other. There was a little strain till I took snowy-haired Carol's hand and introduced her to a brown he-man of her own age, 4 1/2. He eyed her up and down, then blurted out, “Who made your dress?” She answered, “My Mum!” “Oh,” he said softly, “My Mum made my suit.” Then, “It's pretty … you are pretty … ” and all the other children crowded round to show off Mum's handiwork. I tried to make friends, but they are either shy or mistrustful. But I pointed out to one couple the children's Continued on page 43