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Variety in Brief

I was much interested in the article on Tauranga in the September issue of the “Railways Magazine.” The meaning of “Tauranga” bears out the fact that it is “a place of rest,” where “colonels retire.” In old Maori times, it is said, when a party was travelling, a mascot called a “tau” accompanied the party, and was generally carried in front. While it was carried thus the party was on the move, but when a halt was called or when camping for the night the tau was placed on a rock, or tree, the place where it was deposited being called a “ranga,” which meant that the party had halted, or was resting. “Tauranga” is therefore a combination of two Maori words—a place where a tau has been set up, or, in other words, a place of rest—a beautifully applicable designation, as all who know this alluring town will agree. Traditionally, the locality is teeming with interest. A recent publication says: “We learn that the Maoris occupied Tauranga from their first landing in this country. Maori lore indicates that out of twenty-two of the original canoes whose landing and history are known, nine landed in this locality and the descendants of these intrepid voyagers were here in large numbers when Captain Cook passed this way in the ‘Endeavour’ in 1769.” Traders came here and founded one of the very first European settlements in New Zealand. The natives were numerous, prosperous and warlike. Visiting missionaries in 1828 sighted a thousand canoes on nearby beaches and estimated the Maori population to be ten thousand, but there were few pakehas at that remote period. Later a military settlement was established at Tauranga, and at one time for some years martial law prevailed. The warlike attitude of the Maoris made this imperative, for they determinedly opposed the settlement of the pakeha. Even in times of peace military rule by the Government was considered necessary. All this greatly retarded the settlement in this district. However, the missionaries in time were able gradually to institute a more pacific outlook on the part of the Maoris, though every now and then skirmishes broke out. However, the “dead past has buried its dead” as far as Tauranga is concerned, and there is now very little to suggest, as one views the Tauranga of to-day dreaming in the mellow sunshine, that it was in the past the scene of such devastating strife and bloodshed.

Though Captain Cook passed the harbour in 1769 without discovering it (as the article relates) it is interesting to note that he anchored on the 8th of October of that year in a bay, and coming ashore at the mouth of the Turanganui River, near Gisborne, he found the natives inhospitable and provisions scarce, and not wishing to risk hostilities he almost immediately sailed north. When he next landed he found the natives friendly and supplies abundant. He therefore called the lovely bay which lies between Mercury Island in the north and Cape Runaway in the south—a disance of about a hundred miles, “The Bay of Plenty,” his reason being obvious.

—Jain Kirk.

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Very few people, even railwaymen, are aware that one of their number received the bronze medal of the Royal Humane Society, for bravery while in the execution of his duty. Such an one was William Trueman. The incident happened in the early 'eighties, and though I have seen and handled the medal, I have forgotten the exact date. Bill was at that time a fireman on the Wellington-Upper Hutt-Summit run. One sunny afternoon a long mixed train had just passed Heretaunga, and as it rounded the bend leading to the Silverstream crossing, the driver and fireman were startled to perceive a little child playing between the rails. This was before the days of the Westinghouse air brake.

The driver immediately reversed his engine, and whistled frantically for the guard to apply the van brake. Bill screwed on the engine handbrake as hard as possible without skidding the wheels. It was seen that the train could not possibly pull up in time to save the child. Bill slipped quickly out of the side entrance to the cab, took a forward leap, and sprinted for the child. He leaped in between the rails, grasped the child, and threw himself sideways to clear the engine.

As he sprang to safety, the edge of the engine buffer beam gave him such a severe bump, that Bill limped for a long time after. Representations were made to the Royal Humane Society, and as a result, a small meeting took place at Lambton Station, and William Trueman was presented with the Society's bronze medal. Bill has long passed from his railway labours, but it is well to keep green the memory of brave deeds done on our railways. This is, I believe, the only occasion where a railwayman has received such an honour, won during the discharge of his ordinary duties.—A.P.G.