"Oh, I'm stiff," groaned Fred as he sat up and rubbed his legs. "This floor is hard."
"Newspapers make noisy blankets," commented Sam, as he woke and stretched, "You rustled and creaked all night, Fred."
"It was warm enough, though," added their friend who had come to help bring the new horses to the farm, "but it is just as well we kept the fire going all night."
They cooked the sausages in the iron skillet over the open fire, and for cups used Bell Tea tins. Sausages and bread can be carried in saddle-bags but most of their gear was still at the railway station.
"George McMullen says we can have his waggon to go in to Claudelands to get our things," said Fred, "so we will have beds tonight."
As soon as breakfast was finished Fred and Sam Williamson the new owners of a peatlands farm about ten miles from Hamilton took their guest to show him their estate. The house was on a hill, completely surrounded by swamp. "It isn't really so isolated," murmured Fred, "when you consider that there are only five houses between here and Five Cross Roads, and we can see six houses less than two miles away." There was a slight emphasis on the word "see".
To the South, below McMullens house, the water of lake Tunawhakapeke sparkled in the morning sunlight. "The water's really brown and smelly," said Fred, "But there are hundreds of ducks and swans on it. You have to be careful though, because in among the raupo and cutty-grass there are often scum-covered bottomless pools that will trap horses and cows. A man travelling alone might have difficulty in getting out too."
To the west and north a seemingly endless tangle of stunted manuka, cutty-grass and toi-toi stretched to the higher ground where Forsmans and Woods homes and cowsheds were built. "There is a foot-track through, but it is impassible if there has been any rain".
"You can see the hall at Gordonton," observed Sam. "It's probably 2 miles away if you can fly like the swans, but it's about 4 miles by the road."
As they walked along the ridge on which the house was built, they could
see another house to the east, quite close really, a dirty gully overgrown with grey tangled manuka making an effective barrier. Some green trees sheltered the house.
"Those are the only trees to be seen," exclaimed the visitor. "Why ever did you buy such a place."
"You should see the model farm at Ruakura," said Fred. "The grass there is growing as well as any in the South Island. The Waikato's the coming place. We've only got to cut the manuka, drain it, and with a bit of top dressing you won't be able to see us for grass. We're planning to milk 46 cows."
"That'll be a big herd," remarked their guest, "You'll have to hurry up and get a wife and kids to milk them."
"Oh, no!" said Fred quickly, "We're going to get one of those new milking machines."
Cecil snorted, but Sam remarked, "We've got some hill country but the draining will be our first problem of course."
That evening as Fred thanked the neighbour for the loan of his waggon, George McMullen laughed. "In the country we all help each other. We've got to. You'll be in our hay-making gang, and besides," he laughed again, "my land drains into yours and it is most important for me that you keep good drains," and he added an invitation to tea.
As they were opening their cases another neighbour came to welcome them and to suggest that the drain be opened as soon as possible. "Most of the land from Taupiri to Horsham Downs on the left side of the road was in the Freshfield estate, and the even bigger Woodlands Estate was on the other side. They cut drains just where they wanted to, but now the district has been cut up into smaller farms, the drains go through several properties," Mr McDonald told them.
Fred and Sam arrived on May 9th 1913 and on the 12th they began cleaning the drain that ran round the foot of the hill, beginning at McMullen's boundary.
"Isn' t there an easier way?" groaned Sam as they stood in the drain with the swirling water to their knees. "This water stinks." They used wide-mouthed shovels to throw the soft peat out of the drain, but the wet and the cold wind made it a most unpleasant initiation into the swampland farming.
"It won't be like this next year," they promised each other. "We'll make sure we clean our drains in summer when there's not much water."
After four long days of hard work, they reached the boundary between their farm and McDonalds, and as he had promised, Mr. McDonald came down to help so that by the end of the week the drain was open as far as Peach's boundary.
Mr McDonald said, "It flows through Peach's land now till just before it empties into the Komakorau Stream the other side of Gordonton. Mr. Peach always promises to open the drain," and he paused significantly.
But all over New Zealand, as enthusiastic young farmers began opening up new land, the same problems rose again and again. Older men couldn't see why the new farms should drain into their property; low-lying lands were flooded by new drains above; well-intentioned men just didn't get round to cleaning their drains in the dry days and then several farmers found that the water banked up and overflowed when the rains came. The Drainage Act of 1908 provided for the establishment of small Drainage districts with a right to levy rates, borrow money and maintain jurisdiction over drainage problems in their own area.
"It will only mean more rates," warned some of the farmers, but soon the absolute necessity of some controlling body was apparent to everybody, and the Waikato was divided into small Drainage Districts.
FRESHFIELD DRAINAGE DISTRICT ...1914-
In December 1914 the Freshfield Drainage district was consulted, with Arthur Edmonds as Chairman and Charles Honeybun, George Hoskings. George McMullen and Fulton Cunningham as trustees. Mr. Insoll was appointed as clerk, treasurer and collector of rates with a salary of 10 Pounds per annum.
"The first thing that we have to do is get some money," said Mr. Edmonds so the secretary was asked to classify all the lands in the Freshfield Drainage District, and in March 1915 the first rating was struck, l/4d. in the Pound on the rateable capital value on all property shown on the Valuation Roll or .2%. In the following month a petition was sent to the Department of Internal Affairs in an endeavour to abolish the Freshfield Drainage District, but the majority of the 30 or so farmers realised the necessity of some sort of controlling body, and the Board stayed.
The members realised that the rates they received would go nowhere, so a poll was held as to whether they should borrow 1500 Pounds.
To be spent:
... Flaxmill Drain.. 450 Pounds
Lake Drain... 450 Pounds
Peach's Drain...100 Pounds
Hukanui Drain ... 400 Pounds
Expenses for lst year 100 Pounds
Twenty seven ratepayers voted for the loan, and there were two against it. But the tender accepted for the five miles of Lake Drain was for 550 Pounds, so the four farms that drained into Peach's drain were asked to pay the 12 Pound fee the surveyor charged to find a better outlet. Four years later there still wasn't enough money, and it cost them each another 20 Pounds to have the drain deepened.
In October George Boyd took his seat on the Board, and in January 1917 Fred Williamson became a member. Two men who saw swamp and rushes turn to clover and cows, and in Mr. Williamson's case an association was begun that only death ended his "Route march to inspect Flaxmill Drain."
Money was always short, but there were other troubles too. In the dry summers water was scarce on the farms; windmills (the only way of filling the troughs) would stand silent and sullen when the wind did not blow, or the pipe lines would come undone in the unstable soil, so the farmers broke down the banks of the drains to allow the cattle to drink. Then the contractors complained when they tried to clean the drain. In the meeting in February 1917 the Board resolved that ratepayers must gain their consent before making watering places, and that they must be personally responsible for any damage done to the drain.
The network of drains that have altered the face of Gordonton District.
Digging Drains By Hand
Easier Work - Woodlands Road 1970 (Photo by R.H.Weston)
One morning Fred Jilliamson went down to see how the drain cleaning was progressing.
"There's something in this drain," said William Hall, "Come and look. It looks like part of the trunk of a very big tree, but the bark's not like any tree that grows near here. And look, there are even some leaves. I don't recognise them at all."
Fred sighed. "It's a kauri tree. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago there must have been a magnificent kauri forest right through here to Orini when suddenly some catastrophe occurred. The great trees were all snapped off just above ground level, then the peat grew over them and it has preserved them perfectly."
"It looks as fresh as if it has just fallen," observed Mr. Hall, "but there's about 4 feet of peat over it."
Fred said. "The first year I was on my farm, a fire swept through all my swamp land. It burnt the Ti-trees and the top layer of peat, so we sowed grass-seed and thought that we were going to have a perfect farm. This summer all the young grass has died where the logs are close to the surface. There are a lot of them and most of them are at least 80 ft long so I have lost almost half the pasture".
"If it's 80 ft long I can't dig round the end of it," said Mr Hall. And his mate, J.J. Connley added "It doesn't look as if we will be able to dig under it either."
"No," replied Fred. "Some of the trunks are 7 or 8 ft through. Most of the trees seemed to have been about 800 years old. Just think. That tree was probably growing here when Julius Ceasar conquered Britain."
But Mr. Hall wasn't very interested. "What'll we do?" he asked.
Fred said, "Get the cross-cut saw and cut it as low as you can on each side then use gelly and blow the centre piece away. Only put it in properly or you'll blow the side of the drain".
Mr. Connley protested. "We tended 2 shillings 9 pence per chain for cleaning the drain. We haven't the equipment to remove logs like this."
So Fred and his brother did. (As the peat consolidated, many more parts of the drains were obstructed by the logs, and the Drainage Boards provided the detonators and gellignite to remove them.)
A couple of years later that log was again holding back the water, and it had to be cut again and another 2 ft blasted away. Then a fire swept over that portion of the swamp land, burning the soil and crumbling the edges of the drain, and when the dirty grey ashes settled with the Autumn rains the log was showing above the ground on both banks, and the piece in the drain had to be completely removed. In ten years, nothing was left to show that a great Kauri tree had once been there. But when the one forest had been removed and the farmers were thinking that their farms were cleared another forest began to show as the peat consolidated and the drains cut deeper and deeper. And in this forest was manawa, a tree only the oldest bushmen had seen alive and now apparently extinct throughout New Zealand. In 1950 when bulldozers and heavy tractors made the task of removal easy, came the third forest, smaller and more crooked; not to be compared with the magnificent specimans of the earlier years. By 1960 the farmers of Gordonton estimated that the peat-lands of Gordonton had sunk 50-60 feet.
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November 1917: "There's a letter from the solicitor." Commented Mr. Ingels as the Board preceded to accept the correspondence.
Oh.Oh. What's up now?" murmurmed George McMullen.
"Mr. Baggarley is demanding compensation because his land was flooded." George Boyd snorted. "He wouldn't pay his drainage Board rates because he said our activities didn't help him. Perhaps now he'll realise how important it is to co-ordinate the drains."
"Well, we have put a lot of extra water into that drain," said George McMullen.
They discussed the matter for a while. "It will take 130 to 150 Pounds just to clean our drains." Mr. Boyd proposed that they take steps to raise further loan money to deepen and widen the drain that boarded Mr Baggarley's property.
.............................
February 1919: "There's a letter from a Mr White in Auckland." said the secretary. "He's just purchased Dalziel's property on Bankier's Road and he wants us to deviate Flaxmill drain along the road frontage".
In June Mr Edmonds met Mr White and very carefully went over the plan, reporting to the Freshfield drainage Board that it was outside their area.
"We'll give him permission to deviate the drain as long as he promises to maintain it, but we can't assist with the work financially," suggested George Boyd, and the others agreed. But when Mr White came to live on his new farm, he found that drainage was just too important to be left like that. His land wasn't included in any drainage District, and as his natural outlet was the Flaxmill drain, he petitioned to join the Freshfield district.
"The engineer estimates that the work will cost 400 Pounds," said Fred Williamson who had become Chairman in March 1920, "and the clerk reports that we have received only 98 Pounds in rates for 1919-1920 season. There is still 181 Pounds to be forthcoming but how far will that go?" So Mr. White was told once more that the Board gave him permission to make the drains, but were unwilling to pay for the work. But because it mattered so much to him Mr. White rode round the farmers in the Komakorau area with his petition and in September 1921 the Freshfield Drainage district was almost doubled in size.
"But not in value?" commented the Chairman. "This year our rates will be one pence in the Pound for lands classified "A", that's one two hundred and forthieth, 3/4 pence for lands classified "B" and l/4 pence for lands classified "D". We will have to borrow the 400 Pounds to do the work".
As the individual farmers had found, so the small Drainage Districts discovered. If they put extra water down the drains, farmers lower down complained: when men in another District allowed their drains to be blocked, the water backed up in other areas. So in 1929 the Taupiri Drainage and River Board was formed with one member from each of the seven wards elected every three years.
But by the late 1920's the attitude in the country, and indeed throughout the world was changing. The earlier optimism had seeped away; dairy prices fluctuated wildly: the hard manual labour necessary on a swamp lands farm became undesirable, and somehow the animals did not seem to flourish. Deepening of drains had dried out the land in the summer-time, and the cows ate the toi-toi and any of the grasses that didn't dry up, allowing the weeds to flourish; blackberries, rushes, gorse, and later ragwort. But the blackberry was the worst. The farmers could do nothing with it except try to cut it with a slasher and who wanted that job?
The drainage Boards requested their ratepayers to keep the edges of the drains clean, but the long prickly arms of the blackberry grew very rapidly indeed, and they seemed to grow especially quickly; especially prickly, over the drains, which needed to be cleaned each year by men with their square-mouthed shovels. If the contractor had to deal with the blackberries, the farmer was charged the two shillings and nine pence an hour paid for cutting blackberries.
The half buried logs had to be sawn into shorter lengths before the horses could shift them.
When one farmer objected to his bill, saying he had cut the blackberries himself, the contractor complained that he had let them fall into the drain, and made the task even more difficult.
Rabbits added to the troubles. They would dig their burrows wherever there was a half-buried log, so that it was no longer safe to gallop across the paddocks; they burrowed into the banks of the drains and as soon as the rains came the chunks of dirt they had loosened broke off and fell in to block the water. They were especially difficult to control where trees had been planted close to the drains, and this was nearly everywhere.
Each summer, as the land began to dry, farmers lighted the piles of peat-wood that had been stacked for a year or two, blackberries and cutty-grass were set alight, or the train, spewing sparks as it chugged along set fire to the tinder-dry grass, and the peat was burning till the Autumn rains were heavy enough to put it out. Throughout the summer, the thick grey smoke filled the sky, the acid smell of peat permeated everything. And in Autumn and Winter the heavy fog fell early in the evening and often the sun could not break through in the morning till nine or ten o'clock. "Waikato fogs" were known throughout New Zealand.
Once again the Waikato was a depressed and despised part of the country.