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Manawatu, New Zealand
1995
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“What a grand tale.” Ruby clapped her hands together. “You are a one for storytelling.”
“Must run in the family.” Libby smiled at the irony behind the compliment as she tried to make the story as interesting as possible.
The best part of an hour passed and the teapot had gone cold. She marvelled at the routine. It never changed. The two aunts both got up at the same time, another pot of tea was made and fresh scones placed on the table. Someone stoked the fire and opened the door to let out the smoky backdraught filling the room. Cigarettes were lit.
Throughout the process of refilling the cups and spreading butter, jam and cream on the scones, questions were fired at her from all directions. But Libby wouldn’t be drawn on the next episode. “No, that’ll have to wait. I still need to check some facts before I can go on. But what other stories have you got to tell me now?”
“Great Barrier,” said Ruby. “You mentioned Great Barrier. Did he go there, do you know?”
“No, I don’t think so. The ship didn’t stop there. In those days it would have been an isolated place and difficult to get to. Why?”
“I remember Ma saying something about the old man being given some land there, or something.”
“Yes, that’s right, I remember now.” Maggie chipped in. “My, she used to make us laugh with her stories. Remember the one she used to tell us?” Laughing so much, she spluttered in the retelling. “Dad’s big day out to Auckland, and how he got dressed up in his best coat, wearing his trilby, and how smart he looked.”
“We all know that one,” laughed Ruby, her mouth full of cake, wiping the crumbs away as she talked. “Can you imagine it? All the moans and groans from Dad being made to put on his best clothes. No-nonsense was our Mum.”
She turned to Libby as she explained, “When a job was to be done it had to be done properly. Off to Auckland he was – by train. They’d got a letter or rates bill, or something – don’t really remember how she said it came about – but anyway it was supposed to be backdated charges for a piece of land Grandfather Adin had. So off our dad went. He didn’t know where Great Barrier was, so he asked at the wharf. He was told he’d have to take a boat out across the harbour and much further on. Several hours by boat, or was it days?”
Ruby looked at Maggie for confirmation, but she only shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It was winter, I remember that, and a grey, cold day it was, with the wind blowing off the water, so he said. He decided right there and then to forget all about it. He got straight back on the train and came home. They wrote saying the authorities could keep the land. Nothing more was heard about it.”
Libby sat listening to this exchange, wondering how this family could make a story out of so little. It had taken months of research to come up with the facts of Daniel’s early life and his journey to New Zealand. Yet here they were, all laughing, each chipping in, to elongate a single event into something more than it actually was. The bubbling humour around the table was the everyday kind that came from people comfortable with each other.
Intrigued by the piece of information about the old man having been given some land, she caught Ben’s eye across the room. Libby had long ago learnt to rely on Ben to get them talking. He could remember many of the tales from when he was young. She could almost see his brain ticking over. He knew what he’d been told, but from what Libby had found out so far most of it didn’t fit.
“So, if he had a piece of land given to him, what was the story about him getting into strife and being forced to join the army?” Ben asked.
Charlie removed the cigarette from his mouth. “Well, I don’t know about how he got the land and all that. All I know is what we were told about how he got drunk and got himself into a fight somehow. He ended up before the magistrate who told him to get on the boat and go back to where he came from.” Charlie, too, was now spluttering with laughter. “Grandfather said he couldn’t do that because his stepfather had told him never to come back and, any road, he had left some trouble behind. So the magistrate had ordered him to join the army.”
“What sort of trouble?” Ben tried to probe a little further.
“Never knew exactly.” Charlie shrugged. “Just trouble. Young ’uns and all getting up to mischief. No harm done, but cross the law in some way and your number’s up.”
Libby tried to focus the conversation. “Conscription was in force; he had no option. All men were expected to sign up. So tell me about the medal?”
“Dunno about that either. All we know is he had one. ’Cause there was another story about how he soon realised he had nothing against the Maoris and didn’t like being in the army, so he decided to get out.”
“Yeah. I remember being told that one.” Len moved from the easy chair to the table where Libby sat. “We were told, he was on sentry duty one night with another man. In the moonlight, they spotted some Maori intruders – two or three of them. They both fired at the same time and shot one. They thought they’d killed him. They ran up to where he was lying on the ground, dying, with a large gaping wound, blood and gore and dirt all mixed up together. ‘My kill, my kill,’ his companion had yelled. Grandfather replied, ‘Fine with me! If you’re so keen you can have it. I don’t want it. Makes me sick. I don’t want to fight these people,’” recounted Len. “It wasn’t the last time he would say something like that. Over the next few days, so we were told, he got depressed about the whole thing and got drunk. Very drunk. He was arrested the next day for being drunk on duty. They put him in a tent with a guard to await court-martial. One of his other mates sneaked up to the back of the tent, slit it open with a knife and got Grandfather out. He escaped, fled the army and made his way up the river from Trentham to Foxton, where he stayed.”
“Colourful tale,” admitted Ben. “And it’s more or less what I remember being told as a kid. Great stuff and like a Boy’s Own adventure story, but the more you think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense. In those days, desertion was a death penalty or a gaol sentence, at least. You certainly wouldn’t have got away with running off like that. They’d have been after him like a shot. At a minimum he would have got a dishonourable discharge.”
“Hmm, maybe you’re right, lad,” agreed Charlie, “but we can only tell you what we know.” Chas lit another cigarette in his nicotine-stained fingers.
The room went quiet as everyone took in Ben’s comments.
“Well, one thing’s for certain,” said Ruby, breaking the silence. “He did have his medal, so he must have done something right.”
“Do we know why he got the medal, or when?” asked Libby.
“No, we were never told that part.”
“Where is it now?”
“At the bottom of the Whangaehu River,” replied Ben.
“What!” exclaimed Libby. “How did it get there?”
“During the night of the Tangiwai disaster, Christmas Eve, 1953. When Uncle Henry and Queenie died.”
Oh, my goodness! Libby looked around at the smiling faces. They all know this story too. And what a story it must be. Is there no end to the tales this family has up its sleeve? But first things first: What did Daniel do to get a medal?
