A Character Of My Early Youth by Arthur Couch One so often reads of great men of letters or science, acclaimed by their fellow countrymen and men of other nations, but do we ever stop and think of friends, humble people, who to those who knew them were mighty people and looked up to as leaders in their own villages. History may show their names as having participated in a Treaty signing or as having been a participant in a debate at which a Government representative was present—nothing more. They just pass on into obscurity, not even known by their great grandchildren or those two generations after them. Because I would like him to be remembered as I knew him, I write this short record of one such great man of our village. I refer to Teone Watene, born somewhere in Southland, but the greater part of his life lived in our village of Rapaki, situated three miles further up the harbour from Lyttelton. I do not remember his wife, but did know his four children, two boys and two girls. Johnny Watson, as he was known to us youngsters and his many Pakeha friends, was a big man. In one of his stories he spoke of a big Maori chief who, with one sweep of his taiaha, could kill twenty men. He could have fitted this chief. At huis he was a wonderful figure, walking up and down on the marae, tokotoko often clasped in both bands, speaking to his people in our native tongue. These orations often exceeded the hour. If it was a tangi Johnny would quote passage after passage from the Bible. The marvel of this was that he could neither read nor write. It was the custom in those early days, immediately the church bell rang, for all work to cease, and the villagers would go to the service, irrespective of whom the preacher was. Obviously, Johnny's very retentive mind had absorbed all that he heard. Let me here tell you how our elders respected the Sabbath. Friends from Lyttelton were camped on the beach for the weekend. Two sons arrived with a football on the Sunday afternoon. Our playing area was by our hall. That ball was not kicked more than three or four times before one of our kuias arrived stick in hand. Poor Doug and Roland made a hasty retreat to the beach. I wonder can these two brothers remember this? Johnny loved to play cards, euchre or cribbage, and it was quite common for us young folk to fall foul of our mothers by being at Johnny's home learning either game, when we should have been at home helping our Mums or having our tea. It was during these times, too, that Johnny would tell us such thrilling stories of his young days. I shall relate two of his stories:— Human transplants were known to the Maoris some time before his Pakeha brother brought them into practice. Johnny was with a gang felling trees in Southland, when one of the men fell on his axe. The axe was razor sharp and the angle of the fall almost disembowelled the man. Despairing for his friend's life, one member set off for help, but on emerging from the bush, spotted sheep grazing near by. Skill and cunning resulted in that flock being reduced by one. This was taken back into the bush and a stomach transplant performed. Kiekie flax, which grew nearby, was used to complete the operation. This proved so successful that in two months the injured man was back in the bush. One day he really felt he had to