by Vicky Adin
“Interesting, but not sure it adds anything to the story. And I still have the same problem: I don’t know anything about Emma’s parents, her older brother Heinrich, or her baby sister Clara. Oh well, back to the records I go.”
Chapter Ten
Foxton
December 1880
“Aw, come on, come with us,” pleaded young Pete, hands spread out flat on the table of their favourite local as Daniel sat shaking his head.
“Nah, that’s one hell of a trip. There’s no tram up that way yet; it’ll have to be by dray with the four of us. Can’t be bothered with it.”
“You’re being a right charlie, Charlie. What else’re ya gonna do? Come on, it’ll be fun. Tell you what, I’ll even stop at the Sanson pub and get you some beer to carry you over,” Pete tried again.
“What do you want to go all the way up to Halcombe for, any road? It’s thirty mile or more up in the hills. It’ll take hours to get there.”
“There’s a new community up there. Mostly Germans I hear. They started coming back in ’76 to work on the railroads, but there’s more farming and milling going on these days. Anyway, there’s a dance on, and I hear there’s lots of lovely young girls just itching to find a young fella of their own. Don’t you want a girl?” Pete could see he was wearing Daniel down.
“Yeah, maybe, one day. Haven’t met any round here who’d have me,” Daniel laughed.
“What’s stopping ya, then?” asked Pete. “I’ll tell the others. Come on.”
Daniel looked at Peter’s excited face, knowing he’d give in and go with them. “All right.”
With a whoop, Pete ran off to tell the others.
Daniel finished his beer and returned his glass to the counter. “See you Sunday, Jim. Pete and the others have twisted my arm into going to a dance in Halcombe with them tomorrow night.”
“Righto, Charlie. Have fun. See you when you get back.”
* * *
True to his word, Pete rounded up his two mates, Bob and Stan, and arrived at Daniel’s digs the next morning with the dray all loaded up with gear. They were youngsters compared with his thirty-eight years, exuberant, full of hope and expectations. All three of them were New Zealand-born and knew nothing different. Daniel threw his haversack on the back and jumped in after it.
The rough road, the hard riding dray, the rivers and streams, the bush-clad hills were all the same to these stalwarts of the New Zealand landscape: obstacles to be surmounted on the way to their destination rather than sights to be enjoyed. The weather was fine and warm, and a day off work was something to celebrate. They laughed and joked about the best way of picking up a girl, knowing in reality they would be far too shy to fulfil their dreams. Drinking along the way increased their bravado. To make the journey more interesting, Daniel pulled out the old harmonica Joe had taught him to play all those years before, and they whiled away the afternoon singing songs.
The dance hall was already full and noisy when they arrived. After paying the small entrance fee, the men hung their hats on the pegs by the door and, wiping their hands nervously on their trousers, entered the large room. The hall was decked out with fresh ponga fronds smelling of the outdoors, chairs sat around the edge, while the women of the community were busy in the kitchen setting up the supper. Delicious aromas wafted in, whetting appetites. On the stage, the fiddler churned out tune after bouncy tune, setting feet pumping. People stood in groups talking, drinking and smoking, and the men could hear several different languages being spoken. As heads turned to look at the strangers, Pete spotted the young man who had told him about the dance coming towards him.
“Good evening, Peter.” Heinrich, son of the one of the local farmers, greeted them in a thick, Germanic accent. “Nice to see you here.”
“Yeah. G’day, Henry,” replied Pete.
“No, no, call me Heinrich here. My father vill be angry vith me if he thinks I’ve changed my name,” and he looked over his shoulder to see if his father had heard. “He proud man, you know.”
“Oh. Yes, righto. Um ... I’d like you to meet my friends – Bob, Stan and Daniel. We always called him Charlie, though.”
Heinrich shook hands. “Very nice to meet you. Velcome.” Holding Daniel’s hand for a bit longer, he asked, “Vhy they call you Charlie if it not your name?”
The four of them laughed. “I have a reputation for being a bit of a clown sometimes, and back home people like that were called ‘charlies’. Could be that. Dunno why, just were.”
“Ah, yes, I understand ... I think. Hmm. Come, meet my family.” Heinrich led the way to where his father stood.
“Papa, I vould like introduce you to my friend, Peter. I met him vhen I was doing deliveries in Foxton. These other men are his friends, Bob and Stan. And this is Daniel, known as Charlie. I invite them to come. It is right, ja?”
“Ja, my boy. Any friends of yours are velcome.” Offering his hand, he introduced himself. “My name is Eduard. Eduard Fuhrmann. Come, come, let us talk.”
Bob and Stan excused themselves, disappearing towards the makeshift bar at the other end of the room. Heinrich, Peter and Daniel sat with Eduard. Peter and Heinrich were soon deep in conversation about the latest cattle prices and the state of the railways, leaving Daniel to talk to Eduard.
Happy to have someone new to talk to, Eduard was full of enthusiasm. “How long you been here, young man?”
“Since 1863. I came out for a new life. To get some land. But ended up joining the army. I fought in the battles of Rangiaowhia and Orakau Pa.”
“Gut, gut,” interrupted Eduard, “you help keep natives in check so peaceful people can go about their business. Terrible business var and politics. I know. I come from Bohemia, and my vife, she from Saxony. Ve peasants pushed here and pushed there.” His accent was still strong and guttural even after six years in the country. “You know vhere Bohemia is?”
“Not exactly, sir. Near Prussia somewhere, I think?”
“Clever boy, ja, ja; is right. But was never German nor Austrian nor Hungarian in its heart, even though it was part of all those countries at one time. It Czech. I came here four year ago with my vife Frederika, my big children Heinrich and Emma, my little children Fritz and Clara, and since, my baby boy Villiam – he born here. He ist true New Zealander. My Emma she helping her mama take care of the little ones. She vill be here soon.”
“What work have you been doing since you arrived?” asked Daniel.
“I vork first on the railway line. They say you vork hard and you can earn good money and make something of yourself. I vork on the new line from Vanganui to Foxton for first two years ve live here. It was hard vork, let me tell you, vith pick and shovel ve vork in the heat of the sun and in the mud, vhich came vith the rains. But ve never lose heart. Ve never give in. Ve just vork and vork. Ve learn your English. I speak gut, ja?”
“Yes, very good. I work in Foxton. In the flax mill and a bit of drainage contracting.”
“Ja? You have gut job.”
“Yes, it ...”
“Gut, gut,” interrupted Eduard again, so pleased to talk, nothing was going to stop him. “It hard for us vhen first ve come. I not see my vife and babies for veeks vhen ve started. They have to live in village, vhile men stayed in the camps. It hot in here. Vait. I get more drinks, then I tell you more.”
While Eduard went off to get more beer, Daniel looked around the room. He was finding the heat stifling with so many people packed into one space. He wiped his brow, prickling with sweat, with his sleeve.
The fiddlers played the old favourite folk tunes he’d heard many times. The dancers in front of him were doing reels and rounds in quick succession, skirts swinging and petticoats showing. Dust motes could be seen rising between the floorboards as they stamped their feet. Mothers with stern eyes watched their daughters and whom they danced with, from the periphery. The older men stood in groups talking about the latest news of the day. The beer flowed. It looked to Daniel as though everyone was having a good tim
e.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a girl standing shyly by the kitchen door, holding the hand of a young girl of about six, he guessed, not knowing much about children. There was something about the turn of her head that seemed familiar. Yet, it couldn’t be the case; he’d never seen her before. She was small and slight, with ash-blonde hair trailing over her shoulders, but in that instant he was drawn to the strength of character shining in her eyes, to a fire hidden in their depths, even though her pose was watchful.
Eduard returned with four beer tankards in his hand, spilling some as he pushed his way through the crowds. Above the noise of the music he yelled, “These should keep us going for a vhile.” He settled back into the chair. “Now, vhere vas I?”
“Eduard, um, sir,” said Daniel, “before you carry on with your story, can you tell me who that girl is over there?”
“Vhere, vhich one? And don’t call me sir, I am your friend now.”
“Thank you. The one by the kitchen door.”
Eduard looked over, and stood up signalling with a waving hand to show the girls they should come over. “Come, girls. I have someone I vant you to meet.”
“Charlie, my friend, I vant you to meet my daughters.” He put his arm around the older girl. “This is Emma. She is gut girl and helps Mama vith the little ones. And this one,” he said, bending down on one knee to the level of the younger child, and squeezing her cheek, “this is my lovely Clara.”
“Very pleased to meet you, sir,” bobbed Emma.
“And you, miss,” said Daniel, hand extended.
Their eyes met. Time passed.
Chapter Eleven
Halcombe
1881
Daniel and Emma sat talking in the shade of the titoki tree where a rough sawn bench had been placed in her parents’ garden. As the months passed he made the trip back to Halcombe several times, and soon he and Emma became close friends. They each found the other easy to talk to; their relationship was relaxed.
“What did you say the name of the ship was again?” Daniel was keen to know as much about her as he could.
“Terp-si-chor-e. I think is how you say it. I remember the journey across our lands to the sea. To a place called Hamburg. It was October, and the cold time was beginning. The train was warm but so crowded. Too warm for our heavy clothes, but with nothing to pack them in we had to wear them all. We carried little food, and I always hungry. I wasn’t the only one. I didn’t complain. When we got there, there were more people. People everywhere, and noise like I never hear before. The ships were loaded with all sorts of goods. Lots of crates, sacks and barrels. I saw a cow being hauled up onto one ship in a large net. It bellowed all the time. I was frightened – for myself, my family and for the poor animal.”
“I saw the same sort of things in London, but go on, tell me, what was your journey like?”
“It was terrible, the voyage in the ship. I was younger then, of course, and very frightened most of the time – and lonely. I felt sick away from home. That is right, ja?”
“It’s called homesick.” Daniel did his best to improve her English when she asked.
“Ja. Homesick. I did not want to leave but Papa said we must. I did not understand why then. But there was so much fighting. It is so peaceful here.”
“Maybe now, in this garden, but it’s had its moments,” said Daniel, remembering the sounds of war. “Carry on.”
“I had sick tummy sometimes. The storms, not long after we left, were terrible, and the boat she sway from side to side all the time.”
“You poor thing.” Trying to sound sympathetic, Daniel took hold of her small hand. “Did your mama look after you?”
“When she could,” Emma nodded, looking down at her feet, which did not quite touch the ground. “Fritz was three and Clara just a little baby then, and they were sick too. Mama did not have enough milk for baby. She had to use milk from another lady whose baby had died.”
Still somewhat at a loss for words to help the moment pass, he floundered. “Oh. Um. I see. It must have been a difficult time for you.”
“Not much for me, I don’t think so. I learn much from the voyage. I am strong now. Mama she ... um ... what you say? Fretted?”
Daniel nodded.
“When the weather it was fine, no more sickness. Just when the sea rough. When the weather get warmer it was better also. We all go on deck. But still people died. Some were born but babies die too. All women help each other. One mother died leaving six children. I wonder what happened to them without a mama. There were others, six or seven maybe, adults, who were sewn into canvas and dropped overboard. Some people died when we almost arrive. From typhoid fever and everyone scared. There smallpox too. We have many, many pastors who held prayers, some in dialects I not understand well. Still, I know what death means.”
“You are too young for such sad memories, Liebling.” Daniel was proud of having mastered the word a workmate from the flax mill had taught him.
Emma laughed at his pronunciation. “That is nice,” she whispered, blushing as Daniel kissed her face.
“So, what else did you do on the voyage?”
“I learn English a little. They had teacher on board. People sit together to teach – I mean learn. Right? But when we get here the words still sound strange. Too fast. We still much to learn. Other time, we play scotch hopping and round ring throwing. The sailors they teach us.”
“What did you call that game?” asked Daniel.
“You know – small rope ring you throw over squares drawn on deck.”
Daniel laughed, “You mean quoits.”
“Thank you. You help me to learn the English better.”
“Any time.”
Mama’s voice carried across the garden, calling them in to dinner. Emma should have been helping, but when Daniel came to call, Emma was excused from her work. Despite the age gap, Eduard seemed happy to have Daniel visit, although the two of them had many an argument over the rights and wrongs of war. Many times they were on the same side, but at other times they were poles apart. Eduard could not forget that Daniel had taken up arms.
Sitting around the supper table, Eduard took control of the conversation, boasting of his day’s activities. Somewhat oblivious to what was being said about mundane farming work, Daniel and Emma exchanged sly glances across the table. When her father stopped talking long enough to eat, Emma said, “Papa, tell Charlie about what happened to us when we arrived in Wellington.”
“Haff you not heard the story, my boy?” asked Eduard.
Daniel shook his head.
Eduard waved his knife in Daniel’s general direction, his mouth still full of food. He hesitated before deciding, “Ah. I vill tell you, I think. Ja.”
Putting another forkful of meat and potato into his mouth, he chewed as he started to speak. “I start at beginning. Ve sail from Hamburg on 15th November 1875, you know already. Four hundred of us, from all parts. Denmark, many from Prussia, Sweden and, like me, from Bohemia, and more. Ve have storms in North Sea. So before ve hardly begin the journey she is hard. Ve sail south and cross the equator just before Christmas. Big party. It very hot. On the ship sails, round Cape Good Hope, and ve still sail on. Sixteen veeks ve sail seeing no land, one more storm but the vind behind us and push us faster vhere ve vant to go. Then the veather, it is gut. Everyone begin to feel happy. Sun it is shining. Sea it is calm, the long veeks behind us and only a short time to go. There is dancing, there is celebration, but people they get sick. Just three, four veeks to go, and people die. Some of typhoid, so they said.”
Stopping to put more food into his mouth, Eduard pointed to the children. “I vorry they get sick. That I might lose one of my little ones. My Frederika here.” He smiled across the table and nodded towards his wife sitting at the far end. “She become veak and tired during the journey. Looking after children ist hard vork. I hope and pray she not get sick too. But no, my girls, they strong. My Emma here, she is strong – strong-villed too. You
take care with her. She boss you around else.”
“Papa!” interrupted Emma. “Stop. Just tell him the story. Please.”
“Oh, ja. Vhere vas I? Ah ... Ve sail for long time with no land in sight. A few birds, or big ocean animals sometimes. Ve eat better vhen the sailors catch fish to eat. Then one day a call – land in sight. Ve come upon Neue Zeland. Ve are told it is the Southern Island and vhat ve see is Banks Peninsula. Ve need to sail up the coast to the strait betveen the two islands. You know it?” he asked Daniel.
“No, I don’t. I’ve never been to the South Island. I was stationed at Trentham while in the Armed Constabulary for a short while.” Stationed wasn’t quite the word for it, detained was more accurate, but Daniel wasn’t going to let on about that episode.
“Ja, ja. That right. You military man. You take up arms against others.”
“I’m just a poor worker now, though,” Daniel reminded him.
“Maybe. Underneath I still think you gut man. So, anyway, ve find the stretch of vater and sail into Vellington Harbour on 18th March 1876. Very pretty. Nearly full circle almost vith hills behind. Everyone crowd to rails to see. Everyone happy. Vomen crying, men shouting. It gut time. Then a small boat come out to meet us. Ve see men in uniforms talking. By their faces, serious talk, it look. People fall quiet. Mothers gather children to them. Men move into groups asking vhat goes on. All vanting to hear.”
Eduard stopped, his mind and spirit reliving that moment. He looked down at his now empty plate. “More ale,” he demanded.
Frederika rose to get the jug from the cool room outside. The younger children fidgeted. The air was silent and heavy with something Daniel couldn’t put his finger on.
“Be still!” barked Eduard.
Emma rose from the table and with her finger to lips telling them to be quiet, she beckoned the children to her. She urged nine-year-old Fritz and six-year-old Clara out the door. “Here take this.” She handed them a can of seed. “Go feed the chickens, then play for while.”
