An Emigrant’s Tale (#2)

Sailing ship Hesperus from a postcard.

My father, John Grubb, a ship-builder by trade, came to New Zealand in 1847, and after spending about a year in Wellington, went to Lyttelton under agreement with the Canterbury Association to build a jetty and make other arrangements for the arrival of the first settlers.

During this time my mother and three children lived in Dundee, until arrangements were made for them to join Father and come to New Zealand in the Charlotte Jane, one of the four ships chartered by the Canterbury Association to bring the first settlers to Lyttelton.

Before the ships sailed, Lord Lyttelton, the president of the Association gave the passengers a farewell luncheon at Gravesend, where four marquees were erected, one for each ship. During the voyage Mr. J. E. Fitzgerald, who was in charge of the expedition, edited two papers, The Cockroach and Sea Pie; he also composed the Night Watch Song of the Charlotte Jane, of which the first verse ran as follows:-

” ‘Tis the first watch of the night, brothers,
And the strong wind rides the deep,
And the cold stars shining bright, brothers,
Their mystic courses keep.
Whilst our ship her path is cleaving
The flashing waters through,
Here’s a health to the land we’re leaving
And the land we’re going to.”

Mrs T. V. Whitmore, Canterbury Pilgrims’ Association. Reproduced in ‘Tales of Pioneer Women’. 1940.

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The Wool Wagon

Bullock Team and Wool Wagon, Cheviot. Nelson Province, Hon. W. Robinson‘s Station.

C_wool wagon

This photograph represents one of the methods by which wool is conveyed from the wool sheds on the Cheviot Station to Port Robinson in Gore Bay, a distance of about nine miles. The land is very undulating as far as “First Beach,” after which the track lies through shingle and sandhills until the pass of “Cathedral Cutting” is reached, where the numerous steep zigzags put the strength and temper of the bullocks to the severest test.

Bullock wagon pulling a wagon of wool bales. Image from Te Papa collection.

Port Robinson is afterwards gained by a steep descent. There a large woolshed has been erected, also a wharf running directly into the bay. The wool is placed in an iron pontoon, 70 or 80 bales at a time, then run down the inclined plane of the wharf by a wire rope worked by a stationary engine, until the pontoon reaches deep water, when it is hauled alongside a steamer moored a short distance away.

C_ship

 ‘The Wool Season’ by John Gibb, 1885.

It is said that two or three days only are required to ship wool from this station, the value of which may reach £30,000.
Messrs. F. Bradley & Co., Photographic Publishers, Christchurch. c. 1880s.

(‘Station’, in this case, refers to what Americans would call a ranch)

The White Terrace

Way back in October my post titled The Unquiet Earth featured the words of J. A. Froude who was exploring New Zealand’s geothermal region around Ohinemutu and Rotorua in 1885. The poor man has been left in limbo too long and historic events of this week prompt me to take up his story where he left off.

T_Ohinemutu

Ohinemutu was so novel a scene that I could have stayed there indefinitely, and have found something every day new and entertaining to look at …. but our immediate business was to visit the famous [Pink and White] Terraces, the eighth wonder of the world.

The Terraces themselves were twenty-four miles off. We were to drive first through the mountains to a native village which had once been a famous missionary station, called Wairoa. There we were to sleep at an establishment affiliated to the Lake Hotel, and the next day a native boat would take us across Tarawera Lake, a piece of water as large as Rotorua, at the extremity of which the miracle of nature was to be found.

Lake Tarawera from Wairoa by Burton Bros studio of Dunedin. Te Papa collection

Lake Tarawera from Wairoa with the long ridge of Mount Tarawera in the background.

Twenty four miles in a horse-drawn vehicle took up most of the day but, eventually – There stood Wairoa and its inhabitants. It was late afternoon. The people were all out loafing and lying about.

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“McRae’s Hotel”, or more correctly the Rotomahana Hotel, at Wairoa. Joseph McRae is standing at right with hand on hip.

In the morning we had to start early, for we had a long day’s work cut out for us. We were on foot at seven.

A one hour journey across Lake Tarawera in an open rowing boat followed. Then, led by their guide Kate and her apprentice Mari, a half mile walk on a bush track brought them to – the White Terrace in all its strangeness; a crystal staircase, glittering and stainless as if it were ice, spreading out like an open fan from a point above us on the hillside, and projecting at the bottom into a lake, where it was perhaps two hundred yards wide. The summit was concealed behind the volumes of steam rising out of the boiling fountain, from which the siliceous stream proceeded.T_white2

The stairs were about twenty in number, the height of each being six or seven feet. The floors dividing them were horizontal, as if laid out with a spirit level. They were of uneven breadth; twenty, thirty, fifty feet, or even more; each step down being always perpendicular, and all forming arcs or a circle of which the crater was the centre.

T_white top

We walked, or rather waded, upwards to the boiling pool …. It was about sixty feet across, and was of unknown depth. The heat was too intense to allow us to approach the edge, and we could see little, from the dense clouds of steam which lay upon it. We were more fortunate afterwards at the crater of the second terrace.

A fixed number of minutes is allotted for each of the ‘sights’. ….. We were dragged off the White Terrace in spite of ourselves, but soon forgot it in the many and various wonders which were waiting for us.

to be continued on Thursday…..

Then and Now – Greytown

MA_I061925_TePapa_Greytown-Wairarapa

Main street, Greytown, New Zealand, c.1875. The Greytown Hotel at left.

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State Highway 2, Greytown, New Zealand, 2017. The Greytown Hotel at left.

The Greytown Hotel is believed to have been established in 1860, no great age by European standards, but it is rare, if not unique for a New Zealand pub to be still doing business from it’s original premises after 157 years. These old wooden buildings had a tendency to burn down.

Despite alterations and additions, the front of the hotel today is still an obvious match for the one in Bragge’s photo at top.

The Greytown Hotel, North Island, New Zealand, was established in 1860.

The present owner is from Dublin, which explains the flag.

James Bragge (1833-1908) – who has been featured here before and will be again -was a photographer based in Wellington. He was well known for his views of the city and landscapes of the surrounding regions of Wairarapa and Manawatu. His work is easily recognised not only for its quality but for the inclusion of his horse-drawn mobile darkroom in many of the pictures. Foreground interest and advertising at the same time.

MA_I061925_TePapa_Greytown-Wairarapa_wagon

Greytown, by the way, was named for Governor George Grey and not because the town was grey, dull and boring!

The Unquiet Earth

New Zealand, 1885. English historian J.A. Froude follows a popular tourist route to the North Island’s thermal region.

…..we saw in the distance a blue, singular range of mountains, while immediately underneath us, a thousand feet down, stretched a long, greenish lake with an island in the middle of it, and a cluster of white houses six miles off standing on the shore. The lake was Rotorua; the white houses were Ohinemutu, the end of our immediate journey.

Rotorua_Ohine

As we drew nearer to our destination both Ohinemutu and the district touching it seemed to be on fire. Columns of what appeared to be smoke were rising out of the Ti-tree bush, from the lake shore, and from the ditches by the roadside. We should have found the lake itself lukewarm if we could have dipped our hands in the water.

The smoke which we had seen was steam rising from boiling springs – alkaline, siliceous, sulphuretted, and violently acid – not confined, too, exactly to the same spot, but bursting out where they please through the crust of the soil. You walk one day over firm ground, where the next you find a bubbling hole, into which if you unwarily step, your foot will be of no further service to you. These springs extend for many miles; they are in the island on the lake; they must be under the lake itself to account for its temperature. Across the water among the trees a few miles off, a tall column of steam ascends, as if from an engine. It arises from a gorge where a sulphurous and foul smelling liquid ….. bubbles and boils and spouts its filthy mud eternally. I have no taste for horrors, and did not visit this foul place, which they call Tikiteri.

Rotorua_Tikitere

The native settlement [Whakarewarewa] was at one time very large, and must have been one of the most important in New Zealand. It owed its origins doubtless to these springs, not from any superstitious reason, but for the practical uses to which the Maori apply them.

Rotorua_Whaka

They cook their cray-fish and white-fish, which they catch in the lake, in them; they boil their cabbage, they wash their clothes in them, and they wash themselves.

Rotorua_cooking

Text source: ‘Oceana, the tempestuous voyage of J.A. Froude, 1884 & 1885.’ Ed. Geoffrey Blainey. 1985.
Images from postcards in my collection.

Lake Wakatipu

English novelist Anthony Trollope visited New Zealand in the winter of 1872, landing at Invercargill in the far south of the country. From there, he planned to visit Lake Wakatipu, 70 miles to the north and already a tourist attraction.

We were unfortunate in the time of the year, having reached the coldest part of New Zealand in the depth of winter. Everybody had told me that it was so, – and complaint had been made to me of my conduct, as though I were doing New Zealand a manifest injustice in reaching her shores at a time of year in which her roads were all mud, and her mountains all snow. By more than one New Zealander I was scolded roundly, and by those who did not scold me I was laughed to scorn….

With great misgivings as to the weather, but with high hopes, we started from Invercargill for lake Wakatip. Our first day’s journey was by coach (after travelling to Winton by rail), which was tolerably successful, though fatiguing…….

Remarkables

The Remarkables at Lake Wakatipu. Some of the scenery Trollope missed on a journey up the lake in a rain storm.

…..We passed up [a] valley, with mountains on each side of us, some of which were snow-capped. We crossed various rivers, – or more probably the same river at various points. About noon on the second day we reached the lake at a place called Kingstown [Kingston], and found a steamer ready to carry us twenty-four miles up it to Queenstown, on the other side. Steamers ply regularly on the lake, summer and winter, and afford the only means of locomotion in the neighbourhood. But no sooner were we on board than the rain began to fall as it does only when the heavens are quite in earnest. And it was very, very cold. We could feel that the scenery around us was fine, that the sides of the lake were precipitous, and the mountain tops sharp and grand, and the water blue; but it soon became impossible to see anything. We huddled down into a little cabin, and endeavoured to console ourselves with the reflection that, though all its beauties were hidden from our sight, we were in truth steaming across the most beautiful of the New Zealand lakes. They who cannot find some consolation from their imagination for external sufferings had better stay at home. At any rate they had better not come to New Zealand in winter.
‘With Trollope in New Zealand 1872’, Ed. A. H. Reed, 1969.

Fortunately for the New Zealand tourist industry, travellers have ignored Trollope’s advice. They descend on Queenstown every year in their thousands for the winter festival and surrounding ski fields. (It’s popular in summer, too).

Everybody needs a hobby

hobby-horse

A Lady’s Pedestrian Hobby-horse

In 1818, Denis Johnson, Coachmaker, of Long Acre, London, introduced the Hobby-horse into England. A year later a modified version of this contrivance for the use of ladies was introduced, probably by Johnson, who exhibited it at his riding school. The machine, which weighed about 66 lb., had a wooden dropped frame somewhat resembling that of the lady’s bicycle of to-day. The saddle was supported on an iron pillar fixed to the lower part of the frame. There is very little evidence that the ladies of the early 19th century indulged in the pastime, although Johnson’s advertisements assured them that it could be enjoyed without loss of decorum.

Well Denis would say that, wouldn’t he? He was trying to sell them! It could be argued that a lady’s decorum might be slightly damaged just by getting on to the thing and completely destroyed when seen pushing a 66 lb. wooden contraption up a hill on a hot day.

The image and text come from a “Cycling” collection of cigarette cards produced by John Player and Son in 1939. It could be the start of an occasional series.