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Foxton
1873–1875
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“So what do you reckon about all this lot, then?” asked Daniel.
“Dunno.” Tom sounded irritated.
“Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Yep. They are.”
The talk of the town was the official opening of the new Foxton wharf tram terminus, linking with Palmerston North. Daniel, in rolled-up shirtsleeves and braces, stood with Tom a little way from the crowds on a slight rise. Both men held the same pose – one hand in a pocket, a cigarette in the other. Their hands moved simultaneously back and forth bringing the cigarette to their lips and blowing smoke rings out as they watched the little ceremony taking place below them.
The bands marched to and fro playing stirring tunes, pennants and flags flew from every pole, and picnic blankets and hampers were laid out under every available tree, seeking shade. The ladies wore their Sunday best and newest bonnets, while the men discarded their hot jackets as soon as they could. Children skipped and ran around, laughing at the smallest thing, as only children can do.
Daniel tried to draw Tom into conversation. “Things should move faster now the government’s taken over the port an’ all. It’s taken away all them arguments over who’s going to control it. The new wharf’ll make it easier. It has to bring more people and more trade.”
Tom remained silent.
Daniel persisted. “I’ve got me a gut feeling, now Palmerston North’s become a town, Foxton’ll get pushed aside – never mind it’s a major road and rail junction. You’ll see.”
Still Tom remained silent.
“What do you reckon that lot are saying down there?”
The mayor, cabinet ministers and officials, along with the captains of industry in their throat-choking neckties and heavy coats, were busy patting themselves on the back, mopping their brows in the summer sunshine.
The bustling flax industry had grown rapidly over the last four or five years. In good years the fibre reached the heady price of £35, or even up to £40 a ton. Employment was steady, and the demand for rope increased daily. One after another, new mills opened, some with bigger and better stripping machines, some with only one or two strippers. All of them added to the booming township, each one providing work for twenty or more men. Acres and acres of drying paddocks and rows and rows of tow could be seen hanging over specially erected fences or spread on the ground outside the mills to dry. It was the mark of a flax town.
But Tom and Daniel were not enjoying the day as much as they could have. Several months back the market had taken a sudden turn, and prices slumped to an all-time low. It had come as a great shock to see a number of the mills closed, including the Pownall mill. People were out of work all over town, and even Daniel and Tom were laid off. They had gone out and got drunk, hoping it would all be different in the morning. But it wasn’t. Fortunately, they soon found work again: Daniel digging drains; Tom, on the railways.
Nevertheless, the town was still prospering, and today it was celebrating. It was almost time to cut the ribbon. While the recently opened tramway had been touted as the future of the town, the new wharf was considered a major step forward in making the transportation of goods to Wellington via the coastal route quicker and easier. From there it would be shipped on either to Australia, London or North America.
Daniel and Tom couldn’t hear all the words spoken from where they stood, but the body language said it all. A group of young boys waited, clustered around the entrance to the wharf, to be let onto its length to cast a line and try to catch something for their dinner.
When Tom spoke, he sounded angry. “They’ll be all puffed up, spouting forth something along the lines of how wonderful it will be for the community blah, blah, blah, and how much we have to thank the government and the big bosses for, blah blah. I’d thank them if they gave me more money in my pay. Instead, they spend it on making bigger profits for themselves.” Tom threw his cigarette to the ground, twisting his foot over it.
“Yeah, but if they don’t make the profit, they won’t have any money to employ people like us. We’d be sunk without them.”
“Maybe so, but all of this is for the rich folk, not workers like us. It ain’t no better for us than back home,” snarled Tom.
“Rubbish! It’s heaps better, and you know it. We got lots of work with fresh food aplenty. And the freedom to go anywhere and do what we like.”
“You might – I don’t.”
Daniel accepted Tom’s situation wasn’t good. “That’s as may be. But this is home now. It’s up to us to make what we can of it. What’s wrong wi’ yer today?”
“Dunno – just thinking. Missus is expecting again. Did ya know?”
“No, I didn’t, but Tom, that’s wonderful.”
“Don’t know as I want another kid. Five is enough for any man. But the house is too small. It’s only got the three rooms. I’ve a need to build an extra room on or something. The boys are getting too old now to be sharing with their sisters, and I don’t want any more in our room.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you. So will the blokes at the mill,” offered Daniel.
“Help isn’t the problem. Don’t you understand? I don’t have the money.”
Without another word Tom turned and walked away to join his wife and children on the green. Daniel watched, wondering what he could do to help. Life isn’t so good for everyone after all.
The pleasure of the day had gone for him. Deep in thought, he wandered away from the festivities to where his horse was tethered. He’d been pleased with his purchase last year and would tell Jock Proctor so next time he saw him.
As he let his horse wander aimlessly along a hill track, the trees and bush around him thronged with song. He enjoyed listening to the bird songs – strange and exotic birds to him, they were nothing like those he’d encountered back home. To begin with he’d found the sound of the bush disturbing. Not any more. Over time he’d learnt their strange names, such as kereru, tui, piwakawaka and the wet-loving pukeko. The prettiest song of all came from the bellbird.
Following the curve of the riverbank, he spied two mates from the mill sitting on the bank fishing. “G’day,” he called. “Fancy some company?”
George and Dick waved a welcome as Daniel eased his horse down the slope to where they sat. Once he’d unsaddled and tethered her so she wouldn’t wander, he sat beside the two men. “How’s the fishing?”
“Pretty good. Enough for supper tonight, any road,” answered Dick.
“Nice to get away for a while,” added George. “Things are changing too fast for me. I liked the old ways. I like it up ’ere where there’s peace and quiet to hear the birds. You have to come this far to hear them these days. Away from all the noise what’s chasing them away. If it ain’t the mill, it’s the railway or the quarry or something. Life’s got too noisy.”
“Maybe,” said Dick, “but we need better roads if Foxton’s to prosper.”
“I suppose so,” George grudgingly admitted. “Dr Ross were telling me last winter that at times, in some of the worst places where he tried to get to sick people, the mud were as deep as his horse’s girth. Often he couldn’t get through at all. That can’t be good.”
Daniel enjoyed following the bush tracks, but many were being cut back to make larger roads. Small quarried and crushed stones known as ‘loose metal’ were spread along the more important roads, making travel by horse-drawn vehicles much easier. “I know many are being a bit too ruthless in clearing the land,” he said. “And burning off the bush and scrub can’t be good husbandry in the long run, but the flax trade’s growing again, despite the downturn last year.”
“But the flax is getting further and further away from the mill,” added Dick. “And it takes too long to get to it. I mean, they’ve even got shifts of men constantly clearing channels to drain the swamp to make it easier.”
“Don’t I know it,” Daniel said, swatting his neck. “At least there are fewer of these flaming mosquitoes because of it. I hate them. They’re a real pain in the neck. They were so bad last year even the papers got in on the act, telling people how to light fires from rotting vegetation at their front and back doors to keep them at bay. Didn’t seem to make much difference. There was no getting away from them. Even the animals were bit.”
“What’s that got to do with the roads?” asked Dick.
“Nothing, I suppose. I was just thinking how much better it all is with the swamp drained,” answered Daniel with a grin. “Now the railway has replaced that clunky old tram, we won’t be finding the old wooden tracks up in the trees any more with a bit of luck. And we’ll have less floods.”
“We’ll see,” muttered George. “We’ll see. You can’t control nature. If the floods are coming, nothing will stop them. Bog land is bog land, and that’s that.”
With no answer to George’s gloomy outlook, Daniel sat listening for the sounds of the birds.
“Got one,” shouted Dick. “Quick, grab the net.”
“Here take this.”
George handed his rod to Daniel and went to help Dick land his trout.
An afternoon of fishing had given him time to think, and he had an idea for helping Tom. He’d talk to the boys as soon as he got the chance. A little piwakawaka darted and dived around him before flying away over his head. He looked skyward to watch its flight, hearing the call of the grey duck further upstream. Life was still pretty good after all, he reckoned.
* * *
“Go, ye devil. Go, go, go,” yelled Daniel, jumping up and down on the spot as the horses flashed past him along the straight. Above the thunder of hooves, the roar of the crowd reached a crescendo. Straining to see the winning line over the heads of the mob in front of him, Daniel peered through the haze of sand that lifted and swirled in the breeze, kicked up by the horses’ hooves.
John Proctor slapped him on the back. “See. Wha’d I tell ya? That nag has good blood. And after running up and down them sand dunes down at the beach, he’s as fit as a fiddle. Nothin’ll stop him now.”
“Thanks, Jock. You were right again.”
George, Dick, Amos and John’s son, Harry, gathered round Daniel, their voices rich with enthusiasm.
“Great choice, Pa,” said Harry.
“Yeah, Mr Proctor. Thanks fer yer help and all,” echoed George.
“You were right, Charlie,” said Amos. “This is a fun way of raising money. I have to say, I had my doubts. I did wonder if you were feeling right in the head the day you suggested we could get some money together to buy off-cuts from the mill to help Tom build his extra room an’ all.”
“So did I at first,” agreed George, “but I like a good bet as much as anyone, and this killed two birds with one stone. We help Tom and win some of our own.”
For this last race day of the Summer Carnival, it looked as if the whole town had turned out in the sunshine to watch. The bowler-hatted men and their womenfolk in bonnets and parasols, arrived in time for the first race at noon. Hundreds of people made their way on foot, on horseback, by bicycle, horse and gig, pony trap – every way they could.
“How much have we won, then?” asked Amos, practical as ever.
“Good question,” answered Daniel. “Let’s see. We put in two bob each, so that’s ten bob down. The bookie offered odds of twelve to one since no one expected Merry Boy to win. That’s six pounds. Minus our ten shillings leaves a net profit of five pounds and ten shillings. That should buy some timber for Tom, and you all get your money back. We’ve done well.”
Standing in line to get their money from the bookie, Daniel picked up his conversation with Jock. “I must say, having you around when it comes to horses is a real bonus. The day when I came to you looking for some old nag to ride was a great day for me.”
“Takes pride in me work, don’t I? Not having people saying Proctor sold any ol’ hacks to anyone. Especially them what knows little. But you knew what you were looking for. You have a good eye.”
“Picked up a few tips back home when I was with the Lancers, I suppose, but the horses here are tougher and stay longer.”
“Only if they’re trained right. Some of them buggers flog their horses too hard on the sand and break their wind. The clever ones only use the sand for strengthening. You gotta keep an eye on who does what.”
“So, if I was to follow the horses a bit like, what would I be looking for?”
“Broad chests, strong legs, none of those fine hocks for me, too easy to break. Watch the eyes. Any that roll their eyes or flare their nostrils when you check ’em over have been badly treated or pushed too hard.”
“Next,” called the bookie.
Daniel handed over the chits and received his money.
The bookie tried to entice Daniel into making more bets. “Nice little nest egg you’ve got there, matey. What you gonna do with it? I can offer you good odds on Sand Hopper in the next race.”
“No, thanks. I’ve got what I came for.”
“Too bad, sonny. Could’ve been a big win.” Turning away from Daniel he called, “Next.”
“Wise move, Charlie, me boy. Don’t get sucked in by those leeches. They only want to take your money, not give it to ya. Sand Hopper ain’t no good on this track,” said Jock.
“Thanks for the advice. Again. But how do you know?”
“Watched him down at the beach, I have, when I take me horses down. Sand Hopper likes the hard sand just after the tide’s gone. Hates the soft sand, and the track ’ere today is too soft and cut up.”
Daniel and Jock rejoined the others to share out the winnings.
“Let’s get a beer,” suggested Dick.
Soon after, with tankards lined up along the bar, they were deep in conversation about the rest of the races.
“How about we put some pennies on the big black stallion in race four? He looks a likely one.”
Daniel refused to be persuaded to put any more money on the horses. “Not me. I’m not going to risk Tom’s timber money for anything. You enjoy yourselves.” Daniel wiped the beer froth from his upper lip with the sleeve of his jacket. “For once, I’m calling it quits and going while I can. I’ll talk to Ted at the sawmill on me way home.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Jock, swallowing his last mouthful. As they made their way to the back stalls to collect their mounts, he asked, “Are you happy with that mare of yours, Charlie?”
“Yes, I am. She’s great. Why do you ask now, after all this time?”
“Well, her dam dropped another one this season, and she’s a likely looker. I might think about breeding from her, or maybe racing her. That one of yours is a full sister; could be good for breeding. She might be getting on a bit now, though.”
They reached the stalls, saddled their horses, and rode together talking about horses, and whether breeding was an option, until they reached the edge of town.
“I can’t believe how much this place has grown in the three years I’ve been here,” said Daniel. “Do you know how many houses there are now?”
“Nah, never bothered much about things like that meself. I keep away from town when I can. Prefer horses to people, I do,” answered Jock.
“Well, I can tell you. There are twenty-three. I counted them the other day when I was walking up Main Street. And that don’t include the post office or the stores, neither hotel, nor the school and the two sawmills.”
“Not that surprising, given all the new arrivals. People need somewhere to live. It weren’t that long since that bunch from Scandinavia arrived. You remember their ship tied up to the new wharf? That ain’t never happened before. Most of them have gone to work on the railway line, so I hear. The one being built between Wellington and Palmerston North to replace the old tram line.”
“Of course,” replied Daniel. “Tom told me there was around a hundred and twenty of them. That’s a lot of people to come to a small town. No wonder the sawmill’s so busy. Anyways, gotta stop here now. Catch you later.”
“See you around, Charlie.” Jock waved as they parted company.
* * *
The sawmill at the far end of town operated non-stop during weekdays, but Ted, the owner, would be found working at the weekend. The increasing population put demands on them for wood for frames and boards to build houses, planks for porches and boardwalks, and sleepers for the railway, so there were always plenty of discards and rounded kerf cuts.
As he made his way past the log carriage Daniel signalled, “G’day, Ted,” above the noise of the huge circular saw head rig that churned out the planks. He and Ted had met long ago in the army and respected one another.
“Yo, Chas,” yelled Ted as he left his post, putting the saw into neutral. “What can I do for you today?”
“I was wondering if you could help out. I need some cheap timber delivered up to Tom Watson’s place. He’s in need of a new room now his missus is due with their sixth one. The other lads and me got some money but we was hoping you’d be generous like and give us a good price.”
“You’re in luck. That pile over there was a bit too green when it got put through the saw – all the planks have twisted a bit. No good for best boards but with a bit of clever layering you could make it work. There’s a pile of kerfs over there, too. If you can use it, you can have it for six guineas the lot.”
Daniel counted up all the money in his pocket – the winnings, his original two shillings, and a few pence beside.
“Five pound, twelve shilling and thruppence ha’penny. That’s all I got. Will you take it?”
“You drive a hard bargain, Charlie. But it’s for a good cause. I like Tom.” Removing his glove he extended his hand to Daniel. “Done.”
They shook on it and discussed the delivery.
“I don’t want Tom to know it was me, you understand?” said Daniel.
“Sure thing.”
Nor would he be the one to help with the building, knowing his skills in that area were minimal, but Daniel was satisfied he’d done all he could to help a mate in need. Remounting his horse, he headed south to his shack on the banks of the river. Whistling a tune as he went, his mind ran over the possibilities of joining up with Jock Proctor.
I could get interested in this racing game. Might never have the money to own my own horse, but with a mate in the know, so to speak, who knows what might happen?
