by Vicky Adin
As the cortège passed, the men removed their hats as a mark of respect, while the women bowed their heads, taking the opportunity to inspect one another’s dresses out of the corner of their eye. The keening of the Maori women, their heads swathed with green garlands, rose in the air like a prayer. Daniel and Emma stood amongst the silent crowd.
“He were a great man,” whispered Daniel. “He’ll be sorely missed, I can tell you. He kept to himself and was quiet spoken, like, but no one else has done so much for this town. Generous to a fault, he was.”
Emma nodded in agreement. “I remember Annie telling me about him. At least he’s seen his time. He was eighty-two. Maybe his boys will carry on. Look at them all following along behind. Doesn’t it make you proud to see so many of them? Six sons and four daughters – my, that is a family.”
“Yes, yes.” Daniel was impatient, not wanting to be distracted from what he was going to say. “He gave me my first job, remember? Digging ditches at the side of the road.”
“But you’re your own man now, contracting and all.” Emma looked at him quizzically.
“Yes, but he were the first. I owe him a debt of thanks. He were a favourite among the local Maoris and all. Look at them. Turned out in force they have.”
Emma strained to see over the heads of people in front of her. “I knew there were a lot of them living hereabouts, but I’ve never seen so many either. Is it safe?”
“Of course it is, silly. These people aren’t the rebels. They are working folk, just like me.”
Emma noticed an unusual object through the hearse windows. “Why have they placed that lump of green stone on his coffin?”
“That’s a mark of their respect. It’s a great tribute. Greenstone is highly valued, so to give it away is the highest honour they can bestow.” Daniel was mesmerised and in a world of his own following the hearse with his eyes.
Six-year-old Lizzie and four-year-old Charlie were restless, and baby William grizzled. Lizzie danced up and down on the spot, while young Chas was stirring up the dust making patterns with his fingers. Their antics drew Daniel’s attention from the funeral.
His patience snapped. “Enough, you two. Show some respect.” He pulled Chas to his feet and laid a heavy hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. “Stand there and don’t move.”
Emma tried to shush William from his whimpering.
Daniel glared at her, his eyes accusing. “I want to pay my respects in peace and quiet. If you can’t keep them still, then I think you should take them home.”
Nonchalant in the wake of his bad mood, Emma was not in the least put out. “Yes, Charlie, I will. You go ahead and see the burial without me. I’ll see you at home when it’s over.”
People started to fall in behind the hearse to walk with the cortège.
“Righto. I need to see Jock about that horse of his and might call into the hotel on the way home. I’ll be back for my dinner.”
“Make sure you are. I don’t want to come looking for you again. And I will, be sure of it.”
Wondering how the tables had turned on him, he replied, “Yes, yes, a’right. I’ll be home.”
Daniel walked briskly to catch up with the tail end of the procession, turning once to watch Emma and the children fading into the distance, disconcerted by her emphatic tone. As she matured, he considered she was the one who was becoming the dominant force in the family, she who decided what would happen and when – a woman, still in her twenties, who was already showing how strong she could be. He wasn’t sure he liked it.
1889
‘A Narrow Escape’ read the headline in the local Manawatu Herald on 15th January. Young Charlie had fallen in the river and nearly drowned. Daniel threw the paper down in disgust. They might not have mentioned him by name, but everybody in town knew who it was.
Emma had been scared and her screams brought young Alex Langley, one of the mill hands, running. But, in the end, the police constable had to help both of them out of the water. The river was known to be treacherous and they’d all learnt a hard lesson that day.
The paper detailed everything they could about the whole event. “Embarrassing me, they are,” he muttered, knowing he’d not been at home and only heard what had happened much later.
Nevertheless, he had to admit he was content, overall. Unlike many who had suffered during the long depression, he had been one of the lucky ones contracted to the newly formed Foxton Borough Council. At least he could pay his bills and put food on the table. He’d even managed to provide work for a few men and contribute to helping the Irish fellow, Parnell, in his fight for justice for working-class people like him.
Looking back he wondered what use it would be in New Zealand, but it was the principle that mattered. More and more as time passed, he reconsidered his time in the army. He regretted every minute. All I’ve done is help the leaders of the time put down ordinary people, to have control over them, their land and their rights. And for what? Maybe the natives are different, but they only want to live their life undisturbed. Just like me.
Listening to Emma’s views on war over the years, he had become more open-minded than most. He knew that from his mates. He’d argued this point over many a pint with them, and sometimes things got quite heated.
Sitting at the table while Emma cleared away the dinner plates and made a cup of tea, he talked through his concerns.
“I know most people considered the natives hostile and the country needed to be made safe for the new immigrants. But what if they’d treated them as normal people, like us? What if we’d bought the land fair and square instead of cheating them out of it, or just taking it, as sometimes happened? Wouldn’t that have meant better conditions for people arriving here anyway?”
Emma carried on making the tea. “That’s not the way it works, Charlie. And you know it. War has always been the way one country has controlled another, much as I hate it. Here’s no different.”
“Well, it should be.”
“Where has this all come from? Why are you defending the natives?” she asked, handing him his cup.
“I’m not.” Daniel was surprised at Emma’s attitude. “And I’m not even talking about them. I‘m talking about ordinary folk being able to go about their business without the bosses taking everything from them.”
Taking a sip of her tea, she took a moment to answer. “But that’s the way it’s always been. There are the bosses and there are the workers. We are the workers. What’s wrong with that?” Emma could be very pragmatic when it suited her.
“Everything!” Daniel banged his cup into the saucer. “That’s why I supported that Irish fella. He was against them English landlords what were never there, putting up rents and forcing hard-working people out of their homes and off their farms where they’d lived for centuries. It’s not right. It was cruel. Those people hadn’t done any harm. Just so the English could own some land and make money.”
Emma reached her hand across the table, placing it over his. “But that’s true of everywhere. That’s why we left Prussia. Remember? Peasants forced to fight each other, forced off their land so the wealthy could get richer. You know I hate war and fighting and killing as much as you – possibly more. Most people living here are runaways from persecution. And now there’s even more fighting than ever, from what you’ve told me.”
“I don’t know what is best. I’m just a simple man but I want people to treat me well, respect my right to live peacefully, earn enough to live comfortably and feed my family and not bother anyone else. Why can’t we all be like that? Why do we have to control people?”
As usual the discussion went nowhere, solved nothing. He never could reconcile his deep-seated resentment of the rich and wealthy with respect for the decisions and laws made by those so much cleverer than he.
1890
“Here’s to Samuel Parnell and the eight-hour working day,” toasted Harry Proctor. “Hip, hip, hooray!”
“Hooray,” echoed the group.
Daniel charged
his schooner with the others and drank his ale.
Today was the 50th anniversary of the day when the Wellington carpenter, Samuel Parnell, had refused to work more than eight hours each day. According to the papers, parades had been organised throughout the country by the trade unions pushing to have the eight-hour day made official. The day wasn’t yet a public holiday but most businesses and all government offices were closed. Palmerston North was no different, so Daniel and his mates had taken the train to watch the procession.
Despite the heavy rain showers, trucks carrying tableaux of the various trades crept their way up the main street, their banners and bunting flapping and cracking in the cold, howling wind. The music of the brass bands was fractured and fragmented, whipped away by the wind, and little enjoyment was to be had. The friends decided to skip the planned sports and return to the Foxton pub.
“Ah, yes, this is what life is all about,” said Daniel, drinking from his tankard. “The wife and kids at home, money in my pocket and convivial company on a day when the workers have the better of the bosses.”
“Too right you are there, Charlie.” Tom raised his mug. “I’ll drink to that. Have we ever wet the head of that new kid of yours?”
“What? Young Henry. Yeah. Back in February when he were born. But we can always do it again.”
“So how many is that now?” asked George.
“Four. Not as many as your lot, though, Tom. Not yet, any road.”
“No, but six is a mighty handful, I can tell ye. Can I thank you again for what you did in getting the extension to my house done?”
“Will you stop with that now?” Daniel never did find out how Tom discovered he was the one who helped him, and always felt embarrassed when Tom raised it. “Enough is enough. It were years ago.”
“Maybe so, but I’ll never forget it, my friend.” Tom tended to get emotional when he drank – much like Daniel.
“Here’s to young Henry,” toasted Harry. “How about another round, everyone?”
To which they all agreed.
“How’s your Mary, Harry?” asked Daniel.
“She’s big now and there’s still a couple of months to go.”
“Emma said to say hello. Pass on her good wishes, will you?”
“Righto. Thanks.”
Sitting back in his chair and crossing his ankles stretched out in front of him, Daniel raised the subject nagging at the back of mind. “Tell me, someone. Does anyone know what Fred Fohrmann is up to these days?”
“Him what’s your missus’s brother, do you mean?” George was curious.
“Yeah. He’s been around a bit lately. He comes down for the running races. He’s not bad either. Often wins, or at least places, and picks up the odd shilling here and there. Emma is pleased to see him, but I wonder what sort of company he was keeping these days.”
“Well, I hear tell he’s in cahoots with some fellows up around Bulls way who are a bit wild. Foreign fellas. Funny name, something ‘ski’ I think. There’s been talk of a bit of rustling going on. They disappear up to Taranaki regular like, as I hear it.” George was happy to impart something Daniel didn’t know.
Daniel drained his glass. “Thanks. I’d heard something similar.” Changing the subject, he turned to Harry. “What’s the latest with those horses of your pa’s?”
Their love of horses and racing had bound them together for several years, and they often compared notes when deciding which horses to bet on. Their conversation distracted Daniel from his thoughts about Fred.
“That stallion of his is doing well.” Harry was proud of the stable his father ran. “He’s got five mares to foal and he’s hoping for some good progeny out of them.”
“How did that colt go down at Otaki?”
“Not bad. Came third. Didn’t pay much but he’s learning what’s expected now. Pa hopes to see a lot of improvement next season. He’s not going to push him now; the ground will be too hard for him soon.” Harry’s knowledge of horse training was almost as good as his father’s. “He’ll train up the little filly for the summer carnival.”
“I like that filly of his. Any chance of me buying her?”
“Sorry, Charlie. Not that one. Maybe her foal, if you’re lucky. Anyway, you couldn’t afford her.”
“Yeah. You’re right there. Emma wouldn’t have it anyway. Never mind. I’ll just stick to the odd flutter now and then. Drink up. I’ll buy you another.”
Chapter Fourteen
Foxton
1893–1895
Daniel whistled as he rode home that summer’s day in early February 1893, happier about life than he had been for a while. His little Clara had been born last June, giving him a second daughter and, whilst he often remembered Tom’s words about kids being a handful, he wouldn’t be without any of them. Easing his left arm, still in a sling from the fall that broke it a few weeks back, he considered the recent changes brought about since the election of the Liberal government a couple of years before. He wasn’t so sure about the land reforms and taxes since he didn’t own any land, but the income tax changes would make a difference.
At least they’re fair, and the new laws about working conditions have to be good.
“I’m home, Emma,” he announced.
“As if I didn’t know that already, what with you galloping up the driveway like a lunatic and yelling at Chas. Happy are we?”
“Yes. I am actually,” he admitted, surprising her by landing a loud kiss to her cheek as he walked past. A faint blush spread across her face, and she put her hand on her cheek to hold the feeling until she saw him struggling to remove his jacket, hampered as he was by the sling.
“Here, let me help you.” Emma took the jacket from him, hanging it on the peg behind the door. “So, what’s got into you today in particular to make you so happy?”
“Nothing much. A small flutter on the nags came in, so we’ve a few more shillings, the sun is shining ...”
“And you’ve been in the hotel again,” Emma accused him.
“Aw, Emma, don’t spoil it. I enjoyed myself. There’s nothing wrong with that, and I’m home like I said I would be.” Daniel wrapped his good arm around her waist, lifted her up and swung her around.
“Get away with you, you silly old fool.” Swept up with his mood, she laughed. She nodded to where Lizzie sat doing some mending, her look promising more. Much more. Later.
Daniel’s homecoming was always a magnet for the boys. Henry wrapped his arms around his father’s leg, chatting away in baby talk Daniel never understood. The two older boys soon came crashing through the door in their hurry to be the first one in.
“I’ve put the horse away as you asked, Pa,” Chas said.
“An’ I helped brush him down,” chipped in little William.
“Nah, you didn’t,” argued his brother.
“Yes, I did.”
“Calm down, boys,” their mother intercepted, taking a hand of each boy to inspect. “Go wash your hands. Then you can come up to the table for supper. Charlie, take them out to the wash basin and make sure they are clean before I see ’em again.”
Loosening Henry’s grip on his father’s leg, Emma handed him to Daniel’s good arm. Daniel grimaced but did as he was bid.
“Come on, boys, do as Ma tells you now. It’s Henry’s birthday today, so I’m sure there’s cake for afters.” He looked at Emma for confirmation.
“Yes. There is. A large one with three candles just for Henry.”
Daniel beamed at his son, pressing his nose against Henry’s as he’d seen the Maori do to exchange a hongi.
“Fwee,” gurgled Henry.
Everyone laughed as he pushed his stubby fingers in his father’s face.
* * *
A few days after his own birthday celebrations in the April, which, at the age of fifty-one, he had tried to avoid, Daniel sat reading an article in the newspaper.
“Golly. Listen, Emma. Ballance has died. Not unexpected but a sad day. A sad day indeed. I wonder what effect
it will have on government policy now. I suppose Seddon will take his place, since he’s acting leader.”
“Probably,” she agreed, “but I hope it won’t sidetrack the issue about women being allowed to vote. I heard he doesn’t agree with it, despite all the arguments.”
“I think he’s worried the troublemakers from the temperance movement will also bring about changes to the liquor laws. I won’t agree with that. Women voting is one thing but stopping men having a drink when they want to is quite another.” Daniel raised his head challenging Emma to disagree. They’d had many a fight about his drinking habits.
Emma ignored his censure. “The ladies from the suffrage movement have collected thousands of signatures, and when they present the petition to parliament the government will have to agree. They nearly won last time, if it hadn’t been for the Legislative Council voting it down.”
“How do you know all this?” Daniel folded the paper and put it down beside him, tapping his fingers on the table.
“I listen to what the women have to say when I go to town. Mary and Mrs Proctor go to all the meetings, you know.”
“Is that where you’re getting these ideas? From those suffragette women? Dry harridans that they are!”
“They’re not all like that,” Emma protested. “Mary isn’t. But I hear what is going on. You’re not the only one who has opinions on things.” Stubborn as ever, Emma tilted her chin, daring him to contradict her.
“I’m not ag’in it, Emma, you know that, but just the other day that Reverend Barnett fella was having a go at the blokes in Whytes. Reckoned they were more in love with Mrs Stansell than their own wives.”
“Where’d he get that idea from?” Emma was puzzled by this accusation. “What did he mean?”
“Apparently, he says, by putting money into Stansell’s pocket so his missus could be better dressed, we have eyes on her.” Daniel was spluttering with laughter. “Imagine! We buy our ale fair and square and get accused of cheating. There’ll be trouble, mark my words. He can’t go around insulting people like that.”
