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Foxton
December 1880
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“Aw, come on, come with us,” pleaded young Pete, hands spread out flat on the table of their favourite local as Daniel sat shaking his head.
“Nah, that’s one hell of a trip. There’s no tram up that way yet; it’ll have to be by dray with the four of us. Can’t be bothered with it.”
“You’re being a right charlie, Charlie. What else’re ya gonna do? Come on, it’ll be fun. Tell you what, I’ll even stop at the Sanson pub and get you some beer to carry you over,” Pete tried again.
“What do you want to go all the way up to Halcombe for, any road? It’s thirty mile or more up in the hills. It’ll take hours to get there.”
“There’s a new community up there. Mostly Germans I hear. They started coming back in ’76 to work on the railroads, but there’s more farming and milling going on these days. Anyway, there’s a dance on, and I hear there’s lots of lovely young girls just itching to find a young fella of their own. Don’t you want a girl?” Pete could see he was wearing Daniel down.
“Yeah, maybe, one day. Haven’t met any round here who’d have me,” Daniel laughed.
“What’s stopping ya, then?” asked Pete. “I’ll tell the others. Come on.”
Daniel looked at Peter’s excited face, knowing he’d give in and go with them. “All right.”
With a whoop, Pete ran off to tell the others.
Daniel finished his beer and returned his glass to the counter. “See you Sunday, Jim. Pete and the others have twisted my arm into going to a dance in Halcombe with them tomorrow night.”
“Righto, Charlie. Have fun. See you when you get back.”
* * *
True to his word, Pete rounded up his two mates, Bob and Stan, and arrived at Daniel’s digs the next morning with the dray all loaded up with gear. They were youngsters compared with his thirty-eight years, exuberant, full of hope and expectations. All three of them were New Zealand-born and knew nothing different. Daniel threw his haversack on the back and jumped in after it.
The rough road, the hard riding dray, the rivers and streams, the bush-clad hills were all the same to these stalwarts of the New Zealand landscape: obstacles to be surmounted on the way to their destination rather than sights to be enjoyed. The weather was fine and warm, and a day off work was something to celebrate. They laughed and joked about the best way of picking up a girl, knowing in reality they would be far too shy to fulfil their dreams. Drinking along the way increased their bravado. To make the journey more interesting, Daniel pulled out the old harmonica Joe had taught him to play all those years before, and they whiled away the afternoon singing songs.
The dance hall was already full and noisy when they arrived. After paying the small entrance fee, the men hung their hats on the pegs by the door and, wiping their hands nervously on their trousers, entered the large room. The hall was decked out with fresh ponga fronds smelling of the outdoors, chairs sat around the edge, while the women of the community were busy in the kitchen setting up the supper. Delicious aromas wafted in, whetting appetites. On the stage, the fiddler churned out tune after bouncy tune, setting feet pumping. People stood in groups talking, drinking and smoking, and the men could hear several different languages being spoken. As heads turned to look at the strangers, Pete spotted the young man who had told him about the dance coming towards him.
“Good evening, Peter.” Heinrich, son of the one of the local farmers, greeted them in a thick, Germanic accent. “Nice to see you here.”
“Yeah. G’day, Henry,” replied Pete.
“No, no, call me Heinrich here. My father vill be angry vith me if he thinks I’ve changed my name,” and he looked over his shoulder to see if his father had heard. “He proud man, you know.”
“Oh. Yes, righto. Um ... I’d like you to meet my friends – Bob, Stan and Daniel. We always called him Charlie, though.”
Heinrich shook hands. “Very nice to meet you. Velcome.” Holding Daniel’s hand for a bit longer, he asked, “Vhy they call you Charlie if it not your name?”
The four of them laughed. “I have a reputation for being a bit of a clown sometimes, and back home people like that were called ‘charlies’. Could be that. Dunno why, just were.”
“Ah, yes, I understand ... I think. Hmm. Come, meet my family.” Heinrich led the way to where his father stood.
“Papa, I vould like introduce you to my friend, Peter. I met him vhen I was doing deliveries in Foxton. These other men are his friends, Bob and Stan. And this is Daniel, known as Charlie. I invite them to come. It is right, ja?”
“Ja, my boy. Any friends of yours are velcome.” Offering his hand, he introduced himself. “My name is Eduard. Eduard Fuhrmann. Come, come, let us talk.”
Bob and Stan excused themselves, disappearing towards the makeshift bar at the other end of the room. Heinrich, Peter and Daniel sat with Eduard. Peter and Heinrich were soon deep in conversation about the latest cattle prices and the state of the railways, leaving Daniel to talk to Eduard.
Happy to have someone new to talk to, Eduard was full of enthusiasm. “How long you been here, young man?”
“Since 1863. I came out for a new life. To get some land. But ended up joining the army. I fought in the battles of Rangiaowhia and Orakau Paa.”
“Gut, gut,” interrupted Eduard, “you help keep natives in check so peaceful people can go about their business. Terrible business var and politics. I know. I come from Bohemia, and my vife, she from Saxony. Ve peasants pushed here and pushed there.” His accent was still strong and guttural even after six years in the country. “You know vhere Bohemia is?”
“Not exactly, sir. Near Prussia somewhere, I think?”
“Clever boy, ja, ja; is right. But was never German nor Austrian nor Hungarian in its heart, even though it was part of all those countries at one time. It Czech. I came here four year ago with my vife Frederika, my big children Heinrich and Emma, my little children Fritz and Clara, and since, my baby boy Villiam – he born here. He ist true New Zealander. My Emma she helping her mama take care of the little ones. She vill be here soon.”
“What work have you been doing since you arrived?” asked Daniel.
“I vork first on the railway line. They say you vork hard and you can earn good money and make something of yourself. I vork on the new line from Vanganui to Foxton for first two years ve live here. It was hard vork, let me tell you, vith pick and shovel ve vork in the heat of the sun and in the mud, vhich came vith the rains. But ve never lose heart. Ve never give in. Ve just vork and vork. Ve learn your English. I speak gut, ja?”
“Yes, very good. I work in Foxton. In the flax mill and a bit of drainage contracting.”
“Ja? You have gut job.”
“Yes, it ...”
“Gut, gut,” interrupted Eduard again, so pleased to talk, nothing was going to stop him. “It hard for us vhen first ve come. I not see my vife and babies for veeks vhen ve started. They have to live in village, vhile men stayed in the camps. It hot in here. Vait. I get more drinks, then I tell you more.”
While Eduard went off to get more beer, Daniel looked around the room. He was finding the heat stifling with so many people packed into one space. He wiped his brow, prickling with sweat, with his sleeve.
The fiddlers played the old favourite folk tunes he’d heard many times. The dancers in front of him were doing reels and rounds in quick succession, skirts swinging and petticoats showing. Dust motes could be seen rising between the floorboards as they stamped their feet. Mothers with stern eyes watched their daughters and whom they danced with, from the periphery. The older men stood in groups talking about the latest news of the day. The beer flowed. It looked to Daniel as though everyone was having a good time.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a girl standing shyly by the kitchen door, holding the hand of a young girl of about six, he guessed, not knowing much about children. There was something about the turn of her head that felt familiar. Yet, it couldn’t be the case; he’d never seen her before. She was small and slight, with ash-blonde hair trailing over her shoulders, but in that instant he was drawn to the strength of character shining in her eyes, to a fire hidden in their depths, even though her pose was watchful.
Eduard returned with four beer tankards in his hand, spilling some as he pushed his way through the crowds. Above the noise of the music he yelled, “These should keep us going for a vhile.” He settled back into the chair. “Now, vhere vas I?”
“Eduard, um, sir,” said Daniel, “before you carry on with your story, can you tell me who that girl is over there?”
“Vhere, vhich one? And don’t call me sir, I am your friend now.”
“Thank you. The one by the kitchen door.”
Eduard looked over, and stood up signalling with a waving hand to show the girls they should come over. “Come, girls. I have someone I vant you to meet.”
“Charlie, my friend, I vant you to meet my daughters.” He put his arm around the older girl. “This is Emma. She is gut girl and helps Mama vith the little ones. And this one,” he said, bending down on one knee to the level of the younger child, and squeezing her cheek, “this is my lovely Clara.”
“Very pleased to meet you, sir,” bobbed Emma.
“And you, miss,” said Daniel, hand extended.
Their eyes met. Everything around them faded into the background and in that moment, a spark ignited.
