By the following day the aftershocks were tapering off but the fires in the central streets still burned. Navy reinforcements — in the form of the warships HMS Dunedin and Diomede, both of which had quickly been dispatched from Auckland — had arrived at 8.30 in the morning. On board was a large medical contingent from Auckland Hospital, as well as first-aid supplies, stretchers and tents, and seamen who would be working on shore. Their efforts were added to those of teams of ex-servicemen, as well as the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, extra police and other emergency services converging on Napier to begin burying the dead and start repairing the roads, railway lines and telegraph network.
Then at the end of the week came the announcement that evacuation from Napier would begin for those who wished to leave; the water supply and drainage systems were still not functioning, and there was concern about an outbreak of disease. Nelson Park had been designated as the official evacuation centre, and medical cases would be moved to Greenmeadows before being transported out of the area. Initially all evacuees would go to Waipukurau, and then on to Palmerston North or to other parts of the country. Keely, therefore, was elbow deep in paperwork, and hadn’t been home to Kenmore for two days. She was desperately tired, but grateful to be so usefully occupied. She lived on tea and cigarettes, slept when she could and dropped around to James and Lucy’s house whenever she was able to grab an hour to herself. Joseph, Owen and Erin were doing the same, as if converging there could somehow make things better.
Only Erin was there at the moment.
There was a discreet cough and James and Lucy turned to see her standing quietly in the hall.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but she’s awake and she’d like to talk to you, James.’ Erin paused. ‘Oh, and Kepa’s here too. He’s waiting outside.’
‘God, again,’ James said. ‘He might as well be living here.’
Both Lucy and Erin ignored him. They understood — Kepa was reassuring himself that Tamar was not going to slip away from him after all.
The doctor had worked on Tamar desperately for some minutes after her heart had stopped, and just as he had been about to tell the tall Maori gentleman — who had gripped her hand during the resuscitation as if he were having a heart attack himself — that Mrs Murdoch had gone, he’d detected a faint hitching of her chest. When he had applied his stethoscope to her breast he’d been delighted to be able to confirm that she was breathing again, and the Maori man had wept. Not loudly, but in a manner the doctor had found profoundly moving.
Kepa had stayed with Tamar all that night and the following day, and had never been far from her side since. He was sleeping at Tamar’s house on Marine Parade, which hadn’t fallen down in the earth quake, but was certainly worse for wear, and doing what he could to tidy it up in case Tamar wanted to recuperate there before she went home to Kenmore. But that seemed unlikely, with no water or electricity and the drains in the town beginning to stink revoltingly.
Lucy, Erin and Keely were all touched by his obvious dedication and his efforts to make Tamar comfortable, but James wasn’t. He deeply resented Kepa’s involvement in Tamar’s recovery, and was even more annoyed that his mother was so clearly benefiting from the old man’s ministrations. He turned up at James’s house at least twice a day, sometimes with flowers — God knew where he got them — and sometimes with fresh fish or some other food or drink he insisted Tamar have because it would be ‘good for her heart’. Tamar ate everything he brought along, and James found it particularly galling that neither Erin nor Keely, the two nurses in the family, had told the bloody annoying, arrogant old man to stop interfering in Tamar’s recuperation.
Tamar had been transferred to James and Lucy’s home a few days after her heart attack. The doctor overseeing her medical treatment had been most concerned when she refused to be evacuated to Waipukarau with the other injured earth quake victims, and had said very crossly that if anything happened to her because she wasn’t able to receive the appropriate medical help, he wouldn’t be held responsible. But he’d visited Tamar twice since she’d been moved to James and Lucy’s, and had examined her at length both times. In his opinion the leg wound was healing well, and a plaster cast could probably be applied soon, which meant Tamar could go home to Kenmore.
But James knew that wouldn’t happen for another day or two, so he would have to put up with Kepa fawning all over her. But he dared not refuse the man access to his mother; she would be extremely annoyed, and even James had to concede that Kepa’s visits were having a positive effect on her.
‘Oh, let him in then,’ he muttered, reaching for the brandy decanter again. ‘But not for long, I don’t want her getting overtired.’
The two women gave each other a quick, exasperated look before Erin went to see Kepa in.
Tamar lay propped up against a bank of soft pillows. Her face was still unusually pale, although a little colour had finally crept back into her cheeks, and her eyes were regaining a little of their sparkle.
‘Hello, my dear,’ Kepa said. He sat down beside the bed and reached for Tamar’s hand. ‘How was your afternoon sleep?’
‘Fine,’ Tamar replied truthfully. ‘I believe I’m finally on the mend.’
Over the last two days she had been feeling better and better, physically any way, and was very much looking forward to going home.
She shifted slightly, smoothed the fine satin coverlet over her lap and added, ‘Although I have been thinking, Kepa.’
He raised his eyebrows; such a statement from Tamar usually signalled an announcement of some consequence. ‘About?’
‘Well, about the earth quake, and my health and the children and what have you.’
He waited, knowing there would be more.
‘I have to admit,’ she continued, ‘that being crushed by a collapsing building then having a heart attack has rather made me reconsider my … well, my own mortality, I suppose you would call it.’
As it would, Kepa agreed silently.
Tamar was silent herself for a moment, then looked up at his handsome face and silver-streaked hair. ‘The time that you and I have had together since Andrew died has been wonderful, you know that, and I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, but, really, apart from that, all I seem to have done over the past ten years is fiddle about arranging flowers, making clothes for the children and playing at doing the station accounts.’
‘Lachie says that you do a superb job of it, too,’ Kepa said. ‘And do not forget, Tamar, that you are getting on in years. It is time you relaxed.’
Tamar snorted. ‘That’s good coming from you. You’re older than I am.’
Kepa smiled benignly. ‘But only by one year.’ Then he became serious again. ‘We are growing old, my dear. Time does not stop even for a man and a woman lucky enough to come together as late in life as we have.’ He almost added finally, but stopped out of respect for Andrew’s memory.
‘Oh, I know all that,’ Tamar replied, waving a hand dismissively. ‘But I’ve been thinking about who will run things — Kenmore, and the family itself — when I finally do go. Which,’ she added firmly, ‘I fully intend won’t be for some time yet.’
Kepa settled back in his seat. ‘You are not pleased with the way Joseph is managing the station?’
‘Oh, I am, I’m delighted. He and Owen are doing a fine job. And of course Lachie’s input is still invaluable.’ Her face clouded momentarily. ‘Although Lachie won’t last forever either. No, it’s really James I’m worried about. It disturbs me greatly to think about what he might do with his share of Kenmore when I’m gone, and perhaps even the others’ shares. I know he’s starting to make a name for himself as a banker, but I suspect that his personal finances are a shambles. Well, no, I don’t suspect it, I know. I’m concerned that he might sell his share — or be coerced into selling it — and I would hate that. And so would Andrew, if he were still alive. I would be extremely opposed to any Kenmore land passing out of the family.’
Kepa opened his mouth to speak, but Ta
mar held up a hand. ‘So I’ve decided to play a more prominent role in the management of Kenmore, after consulting with Joseph and Owen and Lachie, naturally, and I’ll be setting up a series of trusts so that none of the land can be sold off, or passed on to anyone outside the family, without the approval of a majority of the trustees.’
‘And who will the trustees be?’ Kepa asked, although he thought he already knew.
‘Well, after I’m gone, my children, of course. All of them. And Erin, when Lachie goes.’
‘James will not like that.’
‘I don’t care, Kepa. I love James dearly, but I will not allow him, or any of the others if it comes to that, to jeopardise Kenmore. Andrew and Lachie put their lives into the station, and it must stay in the family.’ She reached for a glass of water on the night stand and took a sip. Her face now took on a very determined expression. ‘So while I am still here, I am going to do my utmost to make sure that all of the children, and that includes Joseph and Erin, and James, regardless of what he might think about it, retain access to what is rightfully theirs. They are my family, Kepa, and I will fight for their interests until my last breath.’
CHAPTER THREE
Kenmore, 1933
Napier rebuilt itself in the years after the earth quake. Ruined shops, offices and houses were gradually cleared and replaced with brand-new, starkly modern buildings. An elegant and poignant memorial to those who had died was built on Marine Parade. Bridges and roads were repaired, and the local economy began to recover — as much as the Depression allowed. Many unemployed men found work in the city’s reconstruction, which prompted more than one optimistic local to note that every cloud had a silver lining.
Tamar was left with a limp — which, to her extreme annoyance, necessitated the use of a cane (at least while she wasn’t in public) — and a warning from her doctor to heed the weakened state of her heart. She ignored him, and threw herself into her family’s affairs with enthusiasm and a vigour that amused Lachie, startled James, delighted the grandchildren and heartened everyone else.
She became more involved with the children’s schools, although this year, much against her protestations, Bonnie and Leila had gone off to board at Iona College in Havelock North. It had been decided, though, as much for the sake of peace and quiet as anything else, that it would be for the best. And the twins loved it, although it was less clear whether the school loved having them. Their academic progress had been, for the most part, quite acceptable to date, but both had already been reprimanded for ‘conduct unbecoming to young ladies’. Drew had joined Liam and Duncan, now in his last year, at Napier Boys’, and Billy had started there as well, Joseph having refused to even contemplate sending him to Te Aute College, which he had loathed. Now only Ana and Robert remained at Kenmore, and James and Lucy’s daughter Kathleen would soon be joining Bonnie and Leila at Iona College.
Tamar had also become more involved in the business of the station. Since Andrew died she had thoroughly enjoyed managing Kenmore’s books, finding real satisfaction in seeing the numbers entered squarely into the black columns of her ledgers. Over the past two years, however, as a result of the Depression and the associated drop in wool prices, Kenmore’s profit margins had been reduced significantly. But the station was much better off than smaller land owners, many of whom had been forced to walk off their land, leaving behind paddocks and homes and lives they had worked years to establish. Heartbroken on their behalf, Tamar gave such men work at Kenmore whenever she could, even when the station could barely afford it. Lachie sat her down one day and pointed out, kindly but bluntly, that if she did not stop hiring unemployed farmers and farm labourers because she felt sorry for their families, they could well be walking off their own land in the not too distant future. Tamar had told him not to be ridiculous, but had not taken on anyone new since.
Keely and Erin were also doing what they could to help those hit hard by the Depression. Once a fortnight they went into town and worked in the soup kitchens set up at relief depots, although often it was a thankless task. Many in the queues were children and women whose men were away on relief work, although some were unemployed men themselves, periodically stood down from the miserably paid government-subsidised schemes. Keely and Erin both felt extremely uncomfortable standing behind the bare trestle tables doling out soup to disheartened and haggard women dressed almost in rags, their children shoeless or with sacks wrapped around their small feet for warmth. Or to men who had been skilled or even white-collar workers before the Depression but had humiliatingly lost almost everything since, and were often unable to meet anyone’s eyes because of their shame and despair.
The cousins took care to wear their plainest clothes, and after April of the previous year, when the mayoress of Dunedin was attacked by protesters after handing out parcels of food while wearing her best outfit complete with elegant dress gloves, were very pleased they had. The work was depressing but neither would contemplate not doing it. Not even Keely, who found herself having to bite her tongue on several occasions when the mood in the queues became unpleasant. And it frequently did. There was bitterness, sometimes pronounced, among the unemployed towards those they perceived to be better off.
One day a barefoot little girl, dressed in a frock that looked suspiciously like a man’s work shirt, muttered something to Keely as she was ladling soup.
‘I’m sorry, dear?’ Keely had responded pleasantly.
‘I said,’ replied the girl, her face screwing up in a scowl, ‘my mum said yous are all stuck-up bitches and you’re only doing this to make yourselves feel righteous!’
Keely froze, then slowly put down her ladle. ‘Did she now?’
‘Yes, I did,’ said a grim-faced woman behind the child, the straight line of her lips echoed by the brim of the unadorned cloche hat jammed low on her forehead. ‘And I’m not the only one as thinks that either, Mrs Fancy Land owner.’
Keely, astounded at such rudeness, opened her mouth to retaliate, but closed it again as she felt Erin tread heavily on her foot.
The woman continued, warming to her theme. ‘You all think you’re doing us such a favour, doling us out soup and bread when we can’t afford to buy our own, but whose fault’s that? Not ours! We didn’t ask to be unemployed!’ Mutters of approval around her spurred her on. ‘It’s the fault of the likes of you. Yes, it is! You on your big sheep farms with your cars and money and fancy schools for your kids. And your ruddy government that couldn’t see this coming and won’t even stump up with a few miserable shillings for those that can’t find work. How am I supposed to feed me kids, eh? This soup isn’t even enough to nourish a kitten!’ She whipped open her baggy brown coat to reveal her advanced pregnancy. ‘And what about this one, eh? Due in two weeks and I’ll be lucky if I can feed it meself, I’m that hungry. And me man’s away working up north on the roads for next to nothing, too far away to come home during the stand-down, so God knows when he’ll see this new one.’
Keely had relaxed now. Behind the woman’s anger she could sense fear and frustration, and realised that the attack wasn’t really personal.
The woman bit her lip, only just winning her battle against encroaching tears. ‘If you really want to do something useful, you tell your husbands to get on to the government and that bloody Coates and get them to change the economics. Telling the unemployed to eat grass! It’s the economics that’s got us where we are today!’
‘Yeah!’ declared the little girl enthusiastically, soup dribbling down her grubby chin.
Keely stopped herself from pointing out that the woman had only moments ago blamed sheep farmers.
‘You been listening to that man of yours too long, Lottie Baker,’ another woman said. ‘That’s his words.’
‘Too bloody right I have, and it’d do you good to listen to them and all.’
There was a lull then, which Keely filled by asking as politely as she could manage, ‘Would you still like this soup then, Mrs Baker?’
The woman’s head
came up, and she straightened her back. ‘Yes, I would,’ she replied with dignity, her hand resting protectively on her distended belly. ‘I got me new one to think of.’
Afterwards, when Keely and Erin talked the incident over, they both agreed that what had struck them most was not the invective the woman had hurled at Keely, but the desperate, trapped look on her face when she’d said she still wanted the soup. As mothers themselves, it was something they both thought they understood.
Not long after that, when the government had reduced the pay for relief work even further, had come the riots and the looting. They started in Dunedin where members of the Unemployed Workers Movement rampaged through the centre of town, breaking windows and taking what they could, and spread to Auckland a few days later. The riots there were worse and continued over several days, ending only when the military was called in to restore order. Then it was the turn of Wellington, where the destruction and looting were the most widespread and violent yet.
Tamar had known for some time that something was up with James. Since July of the previous year, he had begun to show excessive interest in the economy, even for a banker, and had become very enthusiastic about a new political organisation called the New Zealand National Movement, which was busy convening meetings with sheep farmers and business men throughout the Hawke’s Bay. Then one day he arrived out at Kenmore unexpectedly, asking Tamar if he could speak with her in private.
When they’d settled themselves in the parlour, Tamar looked at her son for a long moment, taking in his high colour and the uncharacteristic sparkle in his eyes.
‘What’s this about then? You certainly look excited about something.’
James sat forward eagerly. ‘Yes, I am, actually. I’ve just been elected as an officer of the New Zealand Legion,’ he declared triumphantly.
‘I’m sorry, dear?’
James raised his voice. ‘The New Zealand Legion, Mam. The political movement destined to put an end to the Depression and change the way New Zealand is governed forever.’
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