"Hey Nathan," called John Hastie, "here's a present from the Kirikiriroa Road Board"-and he threw an envelope on the rough table in the mess-room of the barracks of the 4th Waikato regiment.
"My Goodness. Look at this assessment, exclaimed Nathan Rumney. "It's far too much. They've valued my land at two pounds an acre, and the rates are 1/2 pence in the Pound. I can't even get out there to live until something more has been done to the road. However, I guess they haven't any money to do any work until someone does pay their rates."
His friend looked at his own assessment. "I think all of the land has been valued at two Pounds an acre. It is really too much, until we can actually build our houses. There is good rimu and kahikatea on the timber reserve next to my farm in Hukanui, and they are planning to start a mill down Bush Road, (Sainsbury Road), so there won't be any difficulty building my house when I can get to it."
Sergeant Knox came in. He had been allotted the block near Hastie's. "You won't be able to use the timber from the reserve," he remarked. "They've given that land to a group of Maoris from Miropiko Pa. They left their Pa during or before the fighting, and just didn't seem to have anywhere to live so the British Resident, Mr. Searancke suggested they be given that block at Hukanui. It's just been officially confirmed."
"Oh well," said John Hastie philosophically, "There's plenty of 'kaiks' along the banks of the Komakorau River."
"When do you expect to move out, Nathan?" asked Charles Martin. "My allotment's not far from yours, and I hope to start making my house by Christmas time."
Just before Christmas, Captain Steele called Nathan Rumney and Charles Martin into his office.
"You two are discharged at the end of the month. The army won't pay you any more, and they won't feed you either, but you have to promise to come immediately if called upon. We'll probably have to waive the monthly parades because it's a bit difficult to get to Hamilton from Komakorau."
"Yes, Sir," said the two young men, saluting.
"Oh, yes," added the Captain, looking at the orders on the table. "The Militia are supplying you with slabs for your houses. They are at Taupiri, and it is your own responsibility to get them onto your sections."
"Yes sir. Thank you sir," said Nathan and Charles as he dismissed them. Immediately they were outside, the two boys began to plan what to do next.
A couple of mornings later, morning parade over, a half dozen young men set out on their horses for Taupiri to meet the hired waggon waiting at the ferry landing where the slabs, (7 feet long, 10 to 12 inches wide and 2 inches thick) were piled on the bank.
"We'll probably get stuck, "Nathan said pessimistically, "Better only load enough for one house today."
"We'll do yours first," said Charles. "Then we can sleep in it while we are building mine."
"There are some good corner posts," said John, "and two kauri ridge-poles. You are lucky."
"But there are no shingles," observed another boy, "what will you do, Nathan? Thatch?"
"I guess so," he answered, "we really won't have time to cut shingles."
The young soldiers rode ahead to prepare the site for the house, but not far from Taupiri the road went down to a dirty, little gully, and they knew the waggon would need help.
"We'd better make ti-tree fascines," one of them suggested, and while several of them cut the manuka, others tied it into bundles which they threw on to the mud. The mud promptly closed over their fascines.
"That won't do" said Bill in disgust. "Let's make our fascines, and we won't put them down till the waggon is here."
As Soon The Children Were Big Enough They Helped Too.
The sturdy horses in the waggon slid down the slope, the waggon lurching and swaying while the waggoner cracked his long whip and the boys shouted encouragement.With mud flying in all directions, the horses tugged and strained.
"She's across," shouted Nathan, but with a shudder, the waggon sunk almost to its axles. More and more ti-tree was piled under the wheels until boys and horses were splattered from head to foot with the horrible smelling swamp mud.
"Hup! Hup!." yelled the waggoner, cracking the whip until it echoed like a pistol shot. "Up Bess! Pull Charlie!"
Reluctant to loose its hold, the bog sucked and quacked; the boys pushed and yelled; the black swans took flight honking in disgust; but the horses dug in their toes and pulled steadily. Slowly, slowly, the waggon rolled onto higher ground.
"One up for the march of progress," said Tim, "Let's go."
Twice more during the long day the waggon stuck in places where the track crossed little boggy flats. It was almost dark when they pulled onto the rise where Nathan planned to build his home.
"There's no water," began Nathan, but his friends looked at him and laughed.
"There's plenty of mud then," said Tom; though they all knew very well what Nathan meant.
"When Joe went to take up his block in Eureka, he put his tent on the only dry spot in the whole 50 acres," said Bill. "You really are lucky to have so much drier land even though it is covered with manuka."
"There's some good totara at the back," said Nathan. "It will be useful when I have time to build a proper house."
During the previous year, Nathan had been out on several week-end leaves, and had cleared about 1/2 acre of the manuka. Here grass had already started to grow, and the boys hobbled their horses, and prepared to make themselves comfortable for the night. While some cut manuka to make a fire, Old Bill, the waggoner, got out the camp oven in which the stew was already prepared.
"There's running water in this gully," said Nathan. but when he tried to reach it, he sunk down to his knees. Tom pushed out a ti-tree fascine and Nathan climbed back onto the higher ground, wetter and muddier than ever.
"We'll dig a hole then," suggested the other boy. So they made a "bath" about two feet deep. It quickly filled, and though the water was still brown and rather smelly, they were able to wash their hands and faces.
"We won't need many tea leaves in the tea," said Old Bill, "Swamp water makes the tea black, but you get used to it if it doesn't make you sick first."
However, the stew was delicious, and the friends threw a tarpaulin round the waggon and made their beds under it.
"Bracken fern makes a comfortable bed," said the waggoner; but there wasn't time to gather much before it was too dark.
Military Allotments
Surveyed by George Pritchard 1869
By day-break, all were astir, eager for the work of the day.
"Did you soak the oat-meal in the camp oven last night?" called Tom as he piled manuka on the fire and went to cut more.
"Of course I did," retorted Old Bill. "I like my porridge."
When the porridge was cooked, it was delicious, but it takes a while to cook in a camp oven, and meanwhile the young soldiers had started on the building.
"It will be a but-and-ben," remarked Mac, but when Nathan looked enquiringly at him he said, "A two roomed whare. You can add the lean-to at the back and a verandah at the front afterwards."
First of all they put in the four corner posts and then one at each end of the building, nailing on the ridge-pole securely. Then the slabs were dug into the ground and rammed tightly, so that they stood upright, and then nailed onto the wall plate.
"I wonder if there is any clay round here to fill up the cracks," said Tom, "though we will try not to leave any."
The wide chimney filled up most of the space on the end wall.
"lt should be lined with stones," said Old Bill, "but I don't know where you'll get any from."
By evening it was begining to look like a house, but there was still no roof. The men discussed the problem.
"You will have to have clean water somehow," said Vane, "if you make shingles, you can have a barrel to collect the rain water, but I think you might get fresh water on this hill."
"Can't anyone divine water?" asked Old Bill. Vane admitted that he done so at home but he had used a twig from an elm tree- "And I don't suppose there is an elm tree ir, the whole colony." he added.
"There's a little pear tree near the top of the gully," suggested Nathan. "I don't know how it got there, but I saw its white flowers in the Springtime. I have seen a pear twig used as a divining rod."
"Good water's important for old Nathan, but it's essential for me too," said Joe. "This swamp water gives me a pain."
So they cut a track through the manuka to the slope where Vane thought there should be an underground stream, and to his surprise and when he held the little pear twig in his hand it quivered and twisted to indicate that water lay close to the surface. Willing hands started to dig.
"Clay!" Ehouted Joe. "Clay to fill in the cracks in the house."
Soon water started to ooze into the well they were digging. It waa heavy work, but young arms, used to manual labour, made light work or the task.
"It doesn't smell like swamp water," said Nathan excitedly; and though the, workers were soon very wet indeed, they were too glad to give up. Clear, sparkling water! A priceless find in the Waikato Plains of that day.
"Pukeko stew for tea tonight," exclaimed Old Bill, raising his gun to shoot one of the birds that strutted in the swamp.
"Hey, don't shoot that one," remonstrated Joe, "You would get bogged trying to get it. There are probably two or three up on the flat," There were, and into the pot they went.
"There is plenty of raupo and rushes to be gathered to thatch the roof," said Jack next morning. "It shouldn't take long to get enough."
But it takes a lot of rapou and rushes, even the giant ones that grew there, and they had to be careful not to get bogged, so that it took longer than expected to gather the thatching for the roof. They had to return to Hamilton with the other house not done.
"So long, Nathan," called the men as they rode away, and they knew that his handclasp had conveyed the gratitude that his tongue could not say. "We'll be back for the house warming."
There was a lot to do before he could write to his young wife telling her to come, but as he thought of her cheerful smile and glossy black curls, Nathan's heart quickened and he determined to work twice as hard to have the little home ready.
"A man needs to be a geologist," he complained to his black pony, Peter, one morning. "Where do I look for sand for the floor?" But eyes and experience did tell him where to look, so that he found what was needed quite close. The fine pumice sand had probably been packed round the thousands of little lakes that covered the Waikato basin before Pirongia "blew its top" about a thousand years ago, but no one bothered about that, except to be grateful that it was soft and white, and it packed firm and tight for the floor.
"Rumney's pit", they called the place, though it was actually on Freshfield land, and over the years, the Road Board used so much sand from it, that in 1890 they paid Mr. Gray nine Pounds for the three acres.
Nathan Rumney sawed down one of the totara trees and with great difficulty, snigged it home to make into table and stools, and at last a letter went to the little maid that was waiting. "Come", it said, and she came, with the high hopes and courage and determination of the young New Zealanders of the day. Working together, they cut the thick, springy manuka with axe and slasher; they put up fences and dug drains.
'' You need eyes in the back of your head on this place," complained Nathan one Autumn afternoon. "I was around the western paddock this morning and everything was alright, but when I came past just now, there were three sheep bogged. That drain is drying up the flat so much that they think they are quite safe."
"You need an extra pair of ears too," rejoined his wife. "When I went to get the cows to milk them last night, that 'Dainty' stood quite still so that Icouldn't hear her bell. She was just behind a big clump of flax, but it took me half an hour to find her."
"Our live fences are starting to grow at last," Nathan said gladly as he hammered at a piece of leather he was using to mend his boot. "That 'Majesty' doesn't seem to see a fence made of manuka stakes."
"Shorthorn bulls don't," answered his wife, remembering the hard work to make the live fence. While Nathan had dug the ditch, usually three feet deep with sloping sides, she had put in the hawthorn or willow stakes, pushing them firmly into the sides of the drain. "It's an effective fence when it grows, and I think hawthorne is very pretty, especially in the Spring snd Autumn.!"
"What a good job you made of tanning this hide!" interrupted Nathan, holding up the boot he was repairing. "This should last a long time now."
Material comforts were few in the little house on the hill, but there was a happy comradeship that made it a true home. "We are nearly self-supporting," Mrs. Rumney wrote to one of her friends, "but there are some things we just have to buy."
The timber had to be carted to the new farms.
Peat fires
In 1875, top quality wool was realising 1 1/2 pence to 2 pence in the London market, but Komakorau sheep stained their fleeces with the brown peat bogs and pools, and Nathan's clip did not fetch more than 1 pence a pound. But in this year was introduced one of the ideas that have altered the face of the country. In 1860, Francis Hicks had erected the first wire fence in the whole colony - this was in Hawkes Bay. Then in 1875, he bought "Trelawny" at Pukekura near Cambridge, and proceeded to fence it within an unbelievably short time! The other Waikato farmers were incredulous. Wire and a few posts restrict the activities of a cow or even a horse. What nonsense! And a bull would just walk through. (As they often did with the fences they had made with such labour.) They watched with great interest and saw that the stock did stay where it was supposed to. At first some farmers bored holes in the posts and threaded the wire through, but they soon found that staples really did work when the wires were tightened p operly.