.....
The gatherings are expected to last three to four days so on the third day Murdo repeats the delivery yet again. He is just climbing back in the truck when Rangi beckons him over.
“Nau mai,” Rangi repeats, welcoming Murdo to come and listen to the prophet’s delivery.
Murdo is honoured to be asked to stay but is conscious that there is much to be done at the bakery and declines the invitation on this occasion promising to make arrangements so that he can stay the following day.
So Murdo rises before the birds the next morning to ensure he has plenty of time to bake for the Ratana order and to restock the shelves in the bakery before setting off up the hill once again. Charlotte has agreed to open the bakery and serve the customers until his return.
When the loaves are unloaded, Rangi leads Murdo to the perimeter of the crowd, just close enough to hear the words of Ratana, the mangai or mouthpiece of the Holy Spirit.
Ratana steps off the verandah and walks among his people, his bible clutched in his right hand; he calls for their tapae and the gathering makes their confession with a unified “ae”. He orders their repeneta and together the people repent. He pauses by those with crutches and walking sticks, closes his eyes and draws on the power granted to him. His belief is that if the spirit is well so will the body be well and if the body is well so will the spirit be well. It is the strong conviction of the assembled people that the morehu are born again under the Spirit every time they confess and repent.
Murdo stands wide-mouthed in awe of the spiritual force emanating from Ratana. He has been raised with religion but has never experienced anything as powerful as this.
One by one the frail and infirm stand; they throw down their crutches and cast aside their walking sticks. Timidly they take a small step, then another before they are walking unaided.
All that remains at the end of the gatherings is a pile of discarded crutches and walking sticks abandoned by those who believe themselves cured of sickness through faith by Ratana. Murdo wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
.....
“Well Murdo, you have been going to Ratana for several years now, have you met the man they call the Mangai?” asks Charlotte as the couple sit fireside enjoying a cup of tea together. “The Maoris that come into the bakery seem to hold him in awe. What is he really like?”
“He looks nae different from any other Maori, apart from his piercing brown eyes. It feels like they can see right into ye soul.”
“That will be why, my dear husband, you are one of the few white men welcomed up there. He can see your goodness.”
“Thank ye me dear. I’m nae so sure how long that will continue. Things are changing.” Murdo’s thoughts flicker like the flames leaping up the chimney.
“Whatever do you mean?” questions Charlotte.
“Well Ratana was away much of last year, trying to present a petition to King George about the Treaty of Waitangi and the land confiscations. While he was away others were making moves to formalise a Ratana Church.”
“Have they been successful? Surely the orthodox ministers will not allow it.”
“Aye, parliament has recognised it but the Anglican Church leaders say they will excommunicate anyone who signs the new covenant.”
“But how will the church affect the bakery? Surely Ratana are not our only customers, you bake for the locals too.”
Lexie bursts into the room full of excitement.
“Papa, Papa. We won our hockey game.”
“Lexie, do not interrupt. It is very rude,” admonishes Charlotte.
“Very good Lexie. Now get changed please, there are chores to be done,” remarks Murdo glancing at his eldest daughter who is rarely seen so excited. He thinks, but doesn’t voice his opinion that her excitement is wasted since it is her last year at school and playing hockey. She won’t have time next year when she is helping in the bakery.
“And put that stick down before you break something,” growls Charlotte.
Deflated, Lexie leaves the room, wishing that just once she could have someone to share in her delight. She enjoys the camaraderie of training and playing hockey with the other girls from her high school. She’s never been particularly sports minded or maybe it’s just that she never been allowed to take up the opportunity. Too late now though, this is her last year at school and she probably won’t get to play again. Maybe they will have a team at teacher’s college where she hopes to be studying next year.
The fireside conversation doesn’t continue. Murdo is deep in thought, wondering just what will happen in Ratana, how will the church and Ratana’s political aspirations impact on the bakery and what about the farmers – their export returns are plummeting?
.....
“You have a fine smelling batch of fresh bread there Mr Campbell,” remarks Mr Gabites, headmaster of the local primary school out on his customary morning walk. “Who are the fortunate recipients of this load?”
“Good Morning to ye, Mr Gabites. Just off to Ratana – there are volunteers a plenty up there now that they have started building the temple.”
“Oh Mr Campbell, have you not heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Typhoid, Mr Campbell, typhoid. You had best be careful going to Ratana, apparently its endemic up there. It doesn’t surprise me really; all those Maoris living in unsanitary conditions. Just what do they expect?”
Mr Gabites is known for having an opinion about most matters affecting Turakina and surrounding areas so Murdo decides he will still make the delivery and assess the situation for himself.
“Good day to ye Mr Gabites, I’d best be on me way, make me delivery and see what else I can do for them.”
Murdo passes Lexie in the doorway as he goes back inside the bakery for the last crate of loaves.
“Hello Mr Gabites,” greets Lexie wanting to get onside with the local school principal so that when she has finished her teacher training she can get work locally. “It’s a lovely day for a walk.”
“Every day is a good day for a walk. The fresh air clears the mind.” He tilts his hat in farewell and continues up the pavement.
“Right Lexie, ye mind the shop, I will be back late morning.”
Lexie nods. She knows the routine, having been helping out in the bakery for several weeks now since the finish of high school.
.....
Reaching the settlement, now with its own schoolhouse and post office and soon to be completed railway station, Murdo sees the dwindled number of children slowly making their way to the white weatherboard schoolhouse for the day’s teachings.
There are men working on the temple – its grandeur now apparent, twin domed towers loom either side of the main entry. Murdo has heard talk that they are representative of Ratana’s two sons Alpha and Omega or Arepa and Omeka as they are known in Maori; also believed to have healing powers. The distinctive towers with blood red domes and central spires have arched windows on all four sides, the same shape as the front entry and the stained glass windows on the sides and rear of the building. Murdo cannot make out the designs on the windows but imagines they depict the many sacred icons Ratana believes explain the spiritual prophecy of the church. The whole structure appears to rise from the earth as if summoned by God himself.
“Kia Ora Murdo.” Rangi, hammer in hand, greets Murdo. “You’re just in time for a cuppa.”
“I cannae stay Rangi but thank ye kindly. How are ye? Are ye and ye family keeping well? Heard tell there’s some illness going around.”
“Just a belly ache for a few days. Some have it real bad but me and the wife and kids are fine.”
“Ye sure are making good progress on the temple.”
“Yes. They’re working on the inside now. The plan is to have an official ceremony for Ratana’s birthday.”
“Aye. When is that?”
“January 1928, when he turns 55.”
“I’m sure that will be a fine occasion.”
“There’s bound to be a big feast and we will need some more of your fine bread Murdo.”
“I donnae know if I’ll be around still. I’m thinking about moving on.”
“Oh that will be a shame. Where are you going to go?”
“Hawera. Talk is that it is the place to be.”
“Well. Best wishes my friend.”
The two men shake hands and hongi expressing their friendship crossing two cultures.
.....
The sun is shining through the gap in the curtains when Lexie and Florence wake. There is no noise from the kitchen below and no aroma of bread. They look at each other with momentary panic until it dawns on them both – today is Christmas Day. No bread will be baked today.
“Presents, presents,” squeals Barbara with delight as she bursts into her half-sisters’ bedroom.
“Not till after lunch,” replies Florence.
“We’ve got church first remember. Christmas is not all about presents,” reminds Lexie while she ponders whether her gift will be the suitcase she needs to pack her clothes for teachers’ college or maybe some of those new silk stockings.
The girls clamber out of bed and dress in their Sunday clothes even though it isn’t Sunday. Floral skirts and white blouses with three quarters sleeves and vertical pin tucks down the front. Their outfits are similar but not the same. Lexie dons her twice-darned stockings and slides into her well-worn low heeled pumps. Florence, being younger is still in sandals.
Charlotte is just putting a shoulder roast of lamb in the oven as the girls all reach the kitchen. A piece of toast with blackcurrant jam and a glass of milk is all that is allowed for breakfast so as not to ruin the appetite for the midday meal. Then it is a short walk down the road to St Andrew’s Presbyterian Church for the Christmas service.
The sun’s warmth has not yet permeated the arched windows of the church and the girls’ cotton dresses offer no protection from the coolness of the wooden pews. Even ten-year-old Barbara knows better than to fidget though.
There are some Christmas carols interspersed with the psalms and sermon and with the church filled to capacity there is anything but silence for the congregation’s rendition of ‘Silent Night’. Barbara joins the other children from the Sunday school to put on a small nativity play. She has no lines to say but as one of the three wise men she is very proud of her costume made from sheets and tied with string.
Spilling out of the church at the end of the service, children scamper off to play hide and seek among the bushes while their parents mingle with neighbours they have been too busy to visit during the working week. Florence and Lorna chatter with friends from school and Lexie lingers in the background, neither adult nor child and with no old school friends part of this gathering.
Generations of families soon disperse to enjoy a Christmas gathering together. The Campbells have no relatives in Turakina; all of Charlotte’s family are still in the Hutt and so the six of them wander back up to the bakery anticipating the rest of the day.
.....
“Presents, presents.” The last of the dessert plates cleared from the table, Barbara is excited to get to what she considers the highlight of the day.
Presents wrapped in bright green paper and tied with red ribbons have miraculously appeared under the small Christmas tree in the corner of the sitting room.
“Very well then Barbara, you may be a Christmas elf and deliver the presents to your sisters,” says Charlotte as she moves from the table to a more comfortable sitting room chair.
“Thank you Barbara.” Lexie remembers her manners but already there is a sense of disappointment. From its size she knows that it is not a suitcase. She carefully pulls on the red bow and unfolds the tucked-in corners of paper.
“An apron,” she says with disbelief as she pulls the white cloth apron from its wrapping.
“Yes, a new one. I made it just for you,” says Charlotte proudly.
“But ...”
“Aye, ye will need it, when ye are working in the bakery,” adds Murdo.
“But ...”
“But nothing Lexie, ye cannae keep wearing my old one, ye need to look clean and tidy to serve the customers. Charlotte has done a wonderful job of sewing it and ye should be grateful.”
“But what about teachers’ college?”
“Ye didnae honestly believe ye would be going did ye?” asks Murdo rhetorically. “We cannae possibly afford to have ye staying in Auckland, the costs are just too high; ye are better off helping out around here.”
The next ‘but’ is loud in Lexie’s head but never passes her lips. It is obvious that her father and step-mother have no plans of allowing her to go to teachers’ college. Yet another dream shattered.
Chapter Twenty One
Hawera 1928-1936
“Thursday, I’d best be off again.” Murdo dons his hat and jacket to head out the door back to work. “Ye come in about eleven Lexie. We’ll need a hand with the dishes again with all the farmers coming to town for their weekly shop.”
“Yes Papa.” Lexie wipes her hands on her apron and picks up the damp cotton tea towel to finish drying the breakfast plates.
Washing dishes – that seems to be her life of late. At home it is a tiresome chore and the monotony is only broken on Thursdays in the kitchen of her father’s tea rooms. All the other days she is stuck at home looking after the house and cooking meals.
“Hurry up you two; I’ve got things to do.” Lexie says impatiently. Lorna and Barbara appear to be dallying, deliberately eating only small spoons of porridge.
Lorna and Barbara giggle.
“Uh oh Lexie is in a grump!” they taunt in unison.
“Oh don’t be so silly. Just get yourselves off to school so I can finish cleaning up.”
“Not for much longer,” brags Lorna.
“With you lot around I’ll be cleaning up forever,” moans Lexie.
“But I won’t be around for much longer. I’m off to teachers, college soon – remember.”
“Aargh!” Lexie glares at her sisters. She doesn’t need reminding that Lorna is soon off to join Florence in Auckland at teachers’ college, another injustice in a long line of injustices. They get to follow their dreams and she is stuck at home; it is so unfair.
Lorna and Barbara sense Lexie’s frustration and decide it is wiser to make a quick exit and set off for school.
.....
Lexie sweeps the kitchen floor and hangs the washing on the line before she walks the short distance from their house to the tea rooms on High Street. A small bare-footed boy is loitering at the business’s rear entry.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” demands Lexie.
Startled, the boy jumps and turns to face her, crouching, ready to scarper and evade any threat to his well-being.
“Well!” repeats Lexie. “What are you hanging around here for?”
“Sorry Miss. Just waiting for some bread for me mama, Miss.”
“Well, you should go around the front with the rest of the customers.”
“Oh no, Miss. Mr Campbell said wait out here.”
“Why ever would he do that? You’re not lying are you?”
“Nae Lexie, he donnae lie.” Murdo hands the boy a loaf of yesterday’s bread.
“Thank you sir.” He clutches the loaf tightly under his arm and runs away.
“It’s the Depression Lexie,” explains Murdo. “His parents will have lost their jobs and be struggling to put food on the table. It’s good to help out where ye can.”
Lexie has heard talk of the Depression before but has not witnessed its impact first hand until now.
“The dishes are piled up. Ye had best get inside and get started,” prompts Murdo as he re-enters the tearooms. “Come through and clear the tables first.”
Lexie walks through the back of the shop which houses the large oven still warm from the morning’s baking, out to the front where the counter and tables are. There are a dozen small square tables covered with
blue and white gingham table cloths. Most are free at this time of the morning but Murdo is hopeful that today’s lunch time will at least be busier than the last few. Patronage has certainly dropped off during the Depression. Customers still come in for their bread but he’s given up making fancy cup cakes with cream and coloured icing. They are a luxury that few can afford.
Lexie packs what dirty dishes there are onto a tray to carry out the back for washing.
“Papa! Papa! Something terrible has happened.”
Murdo comes quickly to stand beside Lexie.
“What is it? What’s wrong Lexie?”
“Someone must have stolen the sugar bowl. It’s gone from this table and it’s not on that one either.”
“Nae Lexie, no one stole the sugar bowls but they were stealing the sugar so I took them all away.”
“Why ever would they steal the sugar?”
“Sugar is too expensive for most. They cannae afford it and I cannae afford to be giving it away so they have to ask if they want sugar in their tea.”
“Oh I didn’t realize things were quite that bad for so many.” Lexie continues collecting the dirty dishes wondering just how tough things will get.
.....
The lunch time dishes – teapots, cups and saucers, cutlery and cake platters are all but done when there is a whistle from behind the door. Lexie glances at the clock on the wall. It’s 2.30pm and she knows it will be the milk delivery.
Behind the door, Bill pushes his wire-rimmed glasses back up on the bridge of his nose, runs his hands through his wavy hair and swishes it back off his forehead. He knows the door will be opened by an attractive young woman, as it is every week. He’s seen her at church too but doesn’t know her name and thinks it’s about time he found out.
“Good afternoon Miss. William Pollock at your service. Please call me Bill; all my friends do.”
“Hello. Do you have the milk delivery?”
“Well yes Betty and I do but I’m afraid I’ll not be able to give it to you unless I know your name.” Bill winks.
A Better Place Page 17
