"We're going to town. We're going to town," chanted Margaret as she danced round the kitchen, "Muver, aren't you 'cited?"
"Of course she isn't, stupid," chimed in brother Richard before Mrs. Martin could say anything, "Mother goes to town every week."
"But this is dif'rent." protested Margaret.
"Of course it's different," her mother answered, "very different."
The memory of those long, lonely walks during the year flashed through her mind. As soon as there was enough light to see the track, she would leave the house, butter and eggs having been carefully packed the night before.
"No matter how I carry them they get heavy before I reach the store," she thought. Always, they were wrapped well so that if she did slip over, the precious butter was kept clean. Not often were any eggs broken either. Sometimes the sun came up with a sparkle and numerous birds sang happily; sometimes the whipping wind made the going hard and in some places the mud was often up to her knees. Always the return journey was the worst. If she hadn't been able to exchange her produce for much, the load was light; but, that wasn't any reason for rejoicing as she worried about not having enough for the week. Anything extra grew heavier and heavier as she trudged homeward, glad when the eldest boy had been able to get the little ones to bed before she arrived.
Margaret changed her tune. "Tommy, Tommy do you 'member what town is like, town is like?" she sang.
Tommy grinned. "Not much. There's a big river. It's a long way."
Mrs. Martin paused a moment in her packing. That had been a bad experience. Young Tommy, then aged three, had been with his half-brothers getting battens from the bush near the house when the tree slipped sideways as it fell, catching the young boy across the leg. A nightmare ride along the bridle track to Hamilton for the town's first doctor, Dr. Casey, to set the badly smashed 1imb. They'd been able to borrow a wheelbarrow to get him across the bridge to Hamilton East where they stayed till morning. The journey home on horseback wasn't easy either. Mrs. Martin glanced at her young son playing with baby Elizabeth. He'd been in bed for months after that accident but now he was up, as full of mischief as before, and walking almost as straight as anyone. But this time it was to be an easy journey. The Primrose waggon was going to Taupiri and Mrs. Primrose had offered to take the Martin family. From Taupiri they would go to Hamilton by train where they were to stay with friends for a couple of nights. Oh, it was exciting! It had taken hours of work to iron the stiff, snow-white lace that covered the bodices of the little girls frocks but they were done at last and and Mrs. Martin felt quite proud of them. "My girls won't look dowdy beside those town children." she thought.
Before it was daybreak the house was astir. Food for the journey was carefully packed in the cane dress-basket; two roosters, beautifully cooked, crisp, home-made bread, and butter and a big apple pie. As well, there were bottles of plum and blackberry jam to take to the friend who had invited them to stay.
Mrs. Martin was pleased with the bread. Some years her wheat didn't ripen properly; if the Autumn was too wet for it to dry sufficiently, it was likely to go mouldy and the bread would taste horrible till the next year. This season there had been sunshine at the right time and their first lot of wheat, just harvested, was top quality, so the bread was good, too. Mrs. Martin knew that the baker at Woodlands usually added white flour imported from the South Island when he wanted to make the bread especially nice, but her own little hand mill, screwed onto a post, made the flour quite fine, (especially if she put it through twice) and she felt that nothing could taste nicer than her wholemeal bread which she always cooked in the camp oven.
Issac and Ted waved them off. Both boys wished they were going too, but someone had to look after the hens and ducklings and feed the pigs and milk the cows. There was plenty of work to be done, but sometimes the boys wished there was more time just for fun.
Survey Map of Primrose's and Pierce's - Courtesy of Lands and Surveys
By six o'clock they were on the road to Taupiri, hoping that the road would be open all the way so that they could catch their train. For the children, the ride in the jolting, smoky train was part of the excitcmcnt. When they came to a bend in the line, Richard put his head out of the window to see the engine, but when Margaret tried to look, Mrs. Martin remonstrated, "You'll get your frock dirty."
Richard nnd Tommy went to stand on the platform between the carriages. "It jerks and jolts, but you go so fast you seem to be flying," Tommy said, but mother would not let Margaret stand there.
"Sit up like a lady", she said sharply.
"I don't want to be a lady. I'd rather be a boy," muttered Margaret, but she did not let her mother hear her.
At Frankton they took their seats in one of Harwood and Co's omnibus Conches pulled by two big horses. After the clatter and speed of the train, this was a slow and unexciting way to travel, but at last they reached Victoria Street, the main shopping centre of the little frontier town of Hamilton. They had their lunch in the punga house about halfway up Garden Place Hill. The summer-house was overgrown with tiny Dorothy Perkins roses, but there was quite a steep track up to it:, and many people just had to be content to stay at the bottom.
After an interesting time in the shops, they walked the mile and a half out to their friend's home.
"We are having a sewing bee here tomorrow," she told Mrs. Martin. "You'll enjoy that"
Mrs. Martin was glad to meet the other women. "I so seldom see another lady to talk to," she remarked to the girl who had come to sit beside her.
"Have you seen these new sewing machines?" the young lady asked excitedly. "One of rny friends has just bought one and it seems such a marvellous idea. You just turn the handle and the needle goes up and down so quickly you can hardly see it go."
There vms a general discussion, some of the older women declaring firmly that a garment made by a machine would only come to pieces.
"I wouldn't have such a thing in my house," a tall red- faced woman asserled though her daughter looked rebellious.
"I have one," Mrs. Martin said. "I bought it when my son was confined to bed after an accident. If you are careful how you start and finish a seam it makes a very good job, especially with men's work clothes; you can make a shirt in no time at all."
Not for all the world would she tell how much she needed the extra money she was able to earn mending and making shirts for the workers at Woodlands. At first she had to pay off the exrenses incurred by Tommy's accident, then as the children grew older and seemed to need more and more that the farm could not supply, the sewing machine was often kept working late at night. Like most New Zealanders of the time Mrs. Martin was fiercely independant. "We'll starve rather than accept charity," she declared and she worked hard indeed to support her family.
When the afternoon tea was made, needles were put down and the ladies relaxed. One of them turned to Mrs. Martin and said, "You come from Hukanui where Mr. Reynolds was before he started this factory business. What sort of man is he?"
Before she could answer another woman chimed in. "He's nuts. He thinks that milk should be kept clean. What does it matter to the butter if a cow hasn't been washed before you milk her?"
Another woman added, "And he's very strict too. You know Jane, our next door neighbour, the other day she'd just finished milking her cow when the pig knocked the bucket over and spilt a lot of the milk. It looked silly taking half a bucket down to the factory so she put in some water, and, do you know, the manager wouldn't take it at all. He says Mr. Reynolds said he is not to take any more milk from her."
"But she has been warned twice before, you know," said another speaker and she went on to tell about Mr. Reynolds's latest visit to England and his efforts there to ensure the efficient marketing of New Zealand's produce.
"I know he's fussy," she added, "but it seems to be worthwhile. Do you know, in Auckland most butter is selling at 6d a lb. but 'Anchor' sells at one shilling; twice as much!"
"It's lovely to have a little bit of money to spend," remarked another woman. "In Whatawhata, Mr. Reynolds said he'd take our milk if we set up a creamery, and last year we did. It cost 60 Pounds, and there are two separators driven by a steam engine. All we have to do is to take our milk down and he pays us 2 1/2 pence a gallon. I'm milking five cows this year and I hope to get nearly 30 Pounds! Most of us in our scheme have only two or three cows, but last year we supplied nearly 250 gallons every day."
"If you can sell the milk, it. is worth getting more cows," said Mrs. Martin, "but I have to make mine into butter and bring it into Hamilton myself."
"No creamery, and no proper road either," one of the other ladies commented. "It is no wonder most of the militia have abandoned their allotments in Hukanui."
"But it's just as difficult for us who are trying to live on the town section," protested another. "Jobs are very difficult to get. Last year the Kirikiriroa Road Board contributed 149 Pounds 9 shillings & 11 pence towards the Waikato Hospital and Charitable Aid, and this side of the river paid more, but even that wasn't enough."
All of the ladies had a story to tell of the hardship experienced by a friend or neighbour. And they added a hope that Mr. Reynolds's efforts would give the country a chance of prosperity.
In 1896 the director of the New Zealand Dairy Association offered to buy Mr. Reynolds's creameries and Butter factory in the Waikato, and take over his marketing business in London. After 13 years of planning and persuading, Henry Reynolds left the Waikato with very little financial reward for ideas that had completely altered its prospects.
In waggons and gigs, on horseback and on foot, everyone made their way to the Hukanui RAces.
References:
Rushes ‘an Raupo, To cows an’ Clover by Edith Williamson