Landing at Kaiwharawhara

In 1841 when the Norgrove family came ashore from Gertrude at Kaiwharawhara, they were landed straight onto a narrow rocky beach. At the highest point of the beach was the rough road between Wellington and Petone, a road which further along was under water at high tide. Beyond the road were the tree-covered hills of the area now known as the Ngaio Gorge. I pass this spot twice a day, going to and from work, although the exact location has disappeared. Land has been reclaimed, so the shoreline is further out than it was in 1841. There are four lanes of highway, clusters of warehouses, several train tracks. The once crystal-clear Kaiwharawhara stream is little more than a culvert, pushed underground for much of its length, and where visible, it is dark and dirty within its concrete walls.

In the mornings, our train often pauses here, waiting for a signal to proceed. If I’ve been sleeping, I’m woken by the changed sound as we go through the tunnel under the motorway, and the jolting as multiple tracks join. If I’m awake, I look up from my work or my book, and search the landmarks – the island of Kaiwharawhara station between the tracks, the poster-coated and graffiti-painted warehouse behind it, the bushes beside the motorway which reach over and scrape the train’s roof, the stream where it tunnels under the road – looking for something, anything to tell me that this, right here, is where our life in New Zealand began.

In a rhyme of reminiscence written for her family, Sarah tells of their arrival :

The voyage was weary and long, we were twenty weeks in the ship.
We all landed safe and strong, on the beach at Kaiwawa slip the second day of November eighteen forty one
We came on shore and commenced to make our new home.
Your Father lighted a fire and boiled fresh water for tea.
Our shipmates said “What a treat, will you give some to we”.
He said “You are welcome my friends mine is a large kettle you see”.
The clearest of water close by enough for you and me”.
When your Father began to unpack saw, hammer and nails, there were some who stood by him and said “we ought to have brought they ourselves”
He said “Mates we must all set to work for our dear little
children and wives, you know they must all have food, I feel sure you have brought Knives”.

They said “how funny you be, you have cheered us a bit today, and we will let you see us try to do as you say”.
When your Father a table had made, a clean cloth on it I spread, we thankfully sat down in that old Kiwarawara shed.

The old Kaiwharawhara shed was in fact several very basic raupo huts, built by Maori for the New Zealand Company as immigration barracks. They were hardly better than Gertrude’s steerage accommodation, and no-one stayed there longer than they had to. According to Sarah, the next day William walked to town and rented their first home in New Zealand.

The only other account of this landing is a reminiscence by ship-mate John Plimmer, quoted in The Life of John Plimmer :

“Our first experience of life in Maoriland, and of the Maori character, was of an unpleasant kind, although rather unique and original. When we landed on the beach there were great numbers of Maoris, both men and women, gathered around us. They willingly assisted us to carry our luggage to the sheds, and we noticed that they examined everything carefully. Just after dark, six of the largest men walked up to us, as we, with our wives and families, were sitting upon our luggage, their only covering being mats over their shoulders; the children were much frightened, and all of us disgusted. During the night they managed to convey away, in some mysterious manner, a large sack of biscuits, weighting two hundredweight, belonging to me….As I had soon had as much as I wanted of Kaiwarra, I hailed a man who was driving a team of bullocks, and asked him if he would take my luggage to town (which, by the way, was not town at all) and what he would charge for the job; he agreed to take it for thirty shillings. This was an extortion, being at the rate of about six shillings per cwt. for two miles. I was obliged, however, to accept his terms, as I did not like the alternative of stopping with our Maori neighbours.”

ANZAC Day

This is a brief departure from the world of my great-great grandparents, to remember my grandfathers, both of whom survived the horrors of the "war to end all wars".

Malcolm McNaught

Edgar Norgrove

Not forgotten.

Leaving the ship

A little bit more of the story - pure fiction, this part.

Finally it was their turn to disembark. Mr Ellis, the Third Mate, called them forward to the steps leading to the accommodation ladder. Sarah balanced Ovid on her hip, her workbag stuffed between his body and hers to leave one hand free for holding on. The winds were still quite strong after last night’s spectacular storm, and she had earlier tied her hat down with a scarf to prevent it from being ripped from her head.

Mr Ellis bared uneven and discoloured teeth in what he must have intended as a reassuring smile.

“You first, missus, and I’ll carry the lad for you”.

She gripped Ovid more tightly. She had travelled the last months in constant vigilance, full of worry that Baby might fall overboard, but she was never more afraid than when asked to entrust him to arms other than her own. Her fears must have been written clearly on her face, because as Mr Ellis reached for the boy, he winked and said, “Don’t worry, missus. I’ve not dropped anyone in the briny yet.”

That made her feel slightly foolish; after all the Mate was an experienced seaman, and she had never once seen him stumble even in the roughest of seas. Her face warmed with a blush, and she hid it in ensuring that Ovid’s sun-hat was set firmly on his head. The wind was worrying at it, although she had tied the strings tightly under his chin. She gave it another tug to be sure, before moving closer to the steps.

Mr Ellis grasped Ovid firmly around the middle and lifted. To her surprise, he hoisted the boy over his head and onto his shoulders. As Ovid crowed with delight and waved wildly to his father, the Mate secured both little ankles around his neck by grasping them together in one big, sea-roughened hand. Sarah hesitated, wanting to be sure Ovid was safe; wanting more than anything not to have to go through the frightening climb off the ship.

“Hold tight, lad”, Mr Ellis said, and she relaxed a little as Ovid wrapped his arms around the man’s head. He seemed perfectly happy taking in the view from his lofty perch, and she could see that the Mate held him quite securely.

She had no excuse left; she could delay no longer – there were still many behind her waiting for their turn. She looped the drawstrings of her workbag over her right wrist and took a tight grip on the wooden railing with her left hand; her hat was going to have to take care of itself. She stepped carefully up onto the platform beside Mr Ellis and Ovid. From behind her, she heard William’s low tones.

“Try not to look down, dearest.”

It was too late. She had already looked over the side, and the sight of the sea so far below made her stomach lurch; suddenly light-headed and fearing she might faint and topple headlong overboard, she grabbed for the railing with both hands and hung on. The swelling pewter sea was a very long way down, and the longboat waiting for them at the base of the ladder looked impossibly small. How was she going to do this?

Familiar warm hands gripped her shoulders.

“We’re almost there, dearest,” William said softly, his mouth close to her ear. “Take a few deep breaths. I’ll be right behind you.”

She inhaled obediently. William’s touch and the salty air were calming; after a moment she felt able to let go with one hand to reach for the whitened rope of the ladder railing. William’s hands slid away as she turned to face the side of the ship and began her cautious descent. She kept both hands firmly on the inner railing and tried desperately to keep from looking down. The ship and the ladder rose and fell dizzyingly together in the sea’s slight swell, and her stomach suddenly rose too. She was not going to lose her breakfast in front of all these people. She took another great breath, and concentrated her attention on the side of the ship, mere inches from her nose.

How strange it was to see Gertrude from the outside after all these months; the wooden hull which had been so new and perfect when they left Gravesend was marked and scraped, and damply encrusted with crystals of salt. William’s closeness was reassuring as she shuffled slowly down the ladder, feeling her way one foot at a time, the workbag swaying with every step. The sea made slopping sounds against the side of the ship, and the longboat bumped against the bottom of the ladder with a regular thud as they descended. Finally, she could hear the murmurs of encouragement from the men in the boat and she knew the ordeal by ladder was almost over.

At the bottom of the ladder a seaman reached out to guide her down the last few steps. His hands were big and roughened red by years at sea; he was missing at least two fingers, but his touch was gentle as he lifted her into the boat where other hands waited to guide her to a seat. The boards in the bottom of the boat were wet and suspiciously fishy, and she slipped twice in struggling over seats and sea-bags, between the pairs of sweating oarsmen to the stern. A sailor helped her turn to face forward, and held her arm as she lowered herself carefully onto the damp seat.

Awkward with embarrassment at being handled by all these strange men, she took a moment to fuss with her skirts, pulling them up a little to keep them dry, and shifting the workbag to her lap. Then, with order and composure restored, she looked up to find what had become of the rest of her family.

William had worked his way across the longboat to stand across the seat in front of her. The Mate bounded confidently down the accommodation ladder, one hand lightly on the railing and the other still clasping Ovid’s ankles. Ovid was finding his hat a great trial; he had fidgeted with it until it was twisted down over one eye. He pushed at it with his little hands, and before she could call out a warning, a sudden gust of wind caught it and whisked it off his head. She almost laughed out loud at the Mate’s surprised look as the hat flapped past him and dropped into the sea. It wasn’t funny though – she had made the hat herself, during the endless hot days of the doldrums, because Ovid’s own caps and bonnets had no brims to protect his delicate face from the sun. She had sacrificed one of William’s neckerchiefs and part of her own petticoat for it, and although it wasn’t high fashion, it would have done for a year or two yet. Now, though, naughty Baby giggled and pointed to where the errant hat drifted near the longboat.

At the base of the ladder, Mr Ellis lifted Ovid off his shoulders, and lowered him into the boat. The oarsmen passed him back, weathered hands securely wrapped around her precious boy as if he was the Crown Jewels. As she reached to take him from his father, the little boy announced “Hat, Mama,” in quite triumphant tones, and twisted in her arms to look for it in the water. “Your hat is lost and gone, Baby,” she told him, but as William sat down, the sodden hat was presented it to him on the blade of an oar, its dripping strings trailing like seaweed.

Interruption

Writing has been interrupted by great ructions in the kitchen. I had suspected there were mice in the cupboard under the sink. The brown blobs could have been wild rice, but the smell was finally, unmistakably, mouse. Earlier in the week, I took everything out of the cupboard and inserted the cat, but although he sniffed about with interest, he didn’t actually do anything. So today I decided that I’d better get in there and do something about it myself. I discovered that not only had the mice been in the cupboard under the sink, but they had found their way into the adjoining cupboard, which contains drawers of pantry staples. Well, it did contain them, but the mice have had a field day in there amongst all the packages, and mostly what I found was wreckage and mouse poop. So now the shopping list contains a great number of replacement items, along with a note to do something about mouse-proof containers. I’ve also attempted to mouse-proof the cupboard by hammering a triple-thickness sheet of aluminium cut from an oven-liner over the gaping great chasm in the bottom of the cupboard. I assume this is where the mice have been getting in, as there appears to be nothing below it except the under-side of the house. The hole is perfectly circular, so presumably not cut by the mice themselves unless they have got the knack of power tools. I think the drain pipe must have once gone straight down through the bottom of the cupboard. Anyway, the hole is certainly big enough for the mice to have driven themselves through in bus-loads.

I will keep a close eye on it for the next little while. As for Avro, I think he can go on half rations for a while – maybe that will encourage him to get under the house and deal to the mice. He hunts everything else with enthusiasm……earlier in the week I got out of bed to discover that during the night he had left an enormous rat in the hallway outside the bedroom. It must have been quite a battle because the rat was underneath my over-turned bicycle. Interestingly, the rat was completely unmarked by tooth and claw, and this along with its wide-eyed look of dead astonishment leads me to conclude that Avro killed it by dropping the bike on it. He’ll have to use more standard killing techniques on the mice, because he’s not going to be able to drag the bike under the house…