Chapter Eleven
Why Mum Said She’d Give Uncle Trev Napoleon’s Ghost
“Old Freddy Shunter was sweeping out the Waharoa hall after the dance the other night and he saw a ghost.” Uncle Trev sucked a mouthful of tea from his saucer.
“Mum says there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Try telling that to Old Freddy. He ran down the road till he bumped into Ken Quaver coming home from the late shift over at the factory and got him to go back down the hall with him, and Ken says he saw the ghost, too.”
“Mum says Ken Quaver would be scared if he saw himself in a mirror.”
“The hall committee’s got to look for somebody else as a cleaner. Old Freddy won’t go near the place again.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said, “Mum’ll give it to you if she catches you drinking out of your saucer. She says New Zealand’s not old enough to have ghosts.”
“Have you got any idea how old the Waharoa hall is?”
“We always read the foundation stone when we’re waiting to go in to Sunday school. It says the hall was built as a memorial after the Great War, and it was opened by the prime minister, Mr Massey.”
“That’s just the present hall,” Uncle Trev said. “There was a hall long before that, a memorial for the Boer War, but it burnt down one Guy Fawkes. And there was a hall there even before that, built in memory of the Maori Wars.”
“That must have been ages ago.”
“Oh, there was another hall well before that, but it burnt down like all the others.”
“What was that one for?”
“It was built in memory of the Napoleonic Wars against Old Boney.”
“Who’s Old Boney?”
Uncle Trev took off his hat, put it on the floor under his chair, and stood and sang:
Boney was a warrior, Way-ay-yah!
A warrior and a terrier, Jean François!
Boney fought the Rooshians, Way-ay-yah!
The Rooshians and the Prooshians, Jean François!
Moscow was a blazin’, Way-ay-yah!
Boney was a-ragin’, Jean François!’
Boney went to Elba, Way-ay-yah!
Boney he came back again, Jean François!
Boney went to Waterloo, Way-ay-yah!
There he got his overthrow, Jean François!
He went to St Helena, Way-ay-yah!
Aboard the Billy Ruffian, Jean François!
Boney broke his heart and died, Way-ay-yah!
Away in Saint Helena, Jean François!
At each “yah” and at each “Jean François”, Uncle Trev tugged hard on an invisible rope. “That’s what you call a sea shanty,” he said, sitting down again. “When I was a young joker, we sang it to help us pull up the mainsail on the scow.”
“What was the scow’s name?”
“The Empress Josephine – after Boney’s wife. She gave him a hard time, so they say.”
“But who was Boney?”
“Napoleon Bonaparte, the Emperor of France. He marched his army to Moscow in 1812, but the Russian winter beat him. They put him on an island called Elba, but he got away and fought the Battle of Waterloo. The Duke of Wellington beat him, and they put him on St Helena, another island, where he died.”
“What was the Billy Ruffian?”
“The H.M.S. Bellerophon that carried him to St Helena.”
I looked at Uncle Trev.
“Bellerophon,” he said. “Billy Ruffian.”
“Why did they build a memorial hall to him in Waharoa?”
“It was in memory of the hiding they gave him at Waterloo. And the hall before that was built by Captain Cook when he found Waharoa.”
“Did Captain Cook find Waharoa?”
“He reckoned he named it after the village where he grew up back in England, but there was a Waharoa here long before him. Of course, years before Captain Cook came along, the Maoris built the first hall here and used to show pictures on a Saturday night.”
“I didn’t know they had pictures away back then.”
“They were the old silent flicks.”
I nodded. “But who’s the ghost in the hall?”
“Down at Mrs Doleman’s billiard saloon, they were saying it’s old Boney walking around in the hall at night, singing that sea shanty, and carrying his head under his arm.”
“Why does he carry his head under his arm?”
“Ghosts do that, you know. Specially if they’ve had their blocks knocked off.”
“Did Napoleon have his block knocked off?”
“Captain Cook knocked it off with his battle-axe at the Battle of Waharoa back in 1840, when Napoleon refused to sign the Treaty of Waitangi.”
“Why wouldn’t he sign?”
“He couldn’t write his name in English because he was French, you see. So they fought the Battle of Waharoa, and Captain Cook knocked Napoleon’s block off, made him sign the Treaty of Waitangi, and built the old Waharoa hall as a war memorial.”
“What happened to the Empress Josephine?”
“Well, she was sorry old Boney had his block knocked off, specially since she’d given him such a hard time, so she sent a signed photograph of herself. It used to hang up on the stage in the hall. I haven’t seen it for years, not since they put up the new screen for the pictures.”
“Did you have pictures when you were a boy?”
“I don’t remember them, but your mother might. She could well remember Napoleon. Being much older than me means she’s got a lot more to remember, you know.”
I woke, and Uncle Trev had gone. I could hear Mum bustling around in the kitchen.
“Uncle Trev popped in,” I called out.
“What’s that?”
“Uncle Trev came in.”
“As if I hadn’t smelt him and his dirty old dog the moment I put my foot inside the back door.”
“Mum, Uncle Trev told me about the ghost that Mr Shunter and Ken Quaver saw down the hall. It’s Napoleon’s ghost, he said, carrying his head under his arm and crying because Captain Cook beat him at the Battle of Waharoa and made him sign the Treaty of Waitangi or he’d get his block knocked off.”
“There ought to be a law against that man coming in and filling you up with his stories. Napoleon never came within cooee of Waharoa. And he was dead long before the Treaty of Waitangi.”
“Uncle Trev said you’d remember better than him.”
“What on earth they’re going to do with you when you go back to school, I don’t know. Filling you up with all that wicked rubbish about Napoleon and Captain Cook and the Treaty of Waitangi.
“Now, hold your nose and drink this because the doctor said it’ll make you better, and you can have a piece of cake to take away the taste. Don’t go wrinkling up your nose. Just hold your breath, and down it goes. Oh, come on, it’s not as bad as that.”
“I wish I could put my head under my arm like old Boney, and then I wouldn’t be able to taste the medicine.”
“If wishes were horses, beggars could ride. That’s it. Here’s your cake. I’ve a good mind to make that uncle of yours drink a glass of your medicine. Perhaps that’ll stop him telling those stories.”
“Mum,” I said, “do you remember Napoleon?”
“How would I remember Napoleon?”
“Uncle Trev said you would. Well, he said you’ve got a lot more to remember because you’re so much older than him.”
“Napoleon died long before my mother was born.” Mum looked at me and spoke very slowly. “And I’m only a year older than your uncle, and don’t you forget it…I’ll give that man Napoleon’s ghost next time he comes in.”