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Chapter VI: The Women

“A ministering angel thou”—Scott (Marmion).

Women are not numerous in the backblocks. The rough conditions and the isolation prove unsuitable. Nearly all the shepherds and station hands are single, and it is not until the place gets improved and settled that the womenfolk appear. On many wayback places even the cook is a man — often an old sailor. But on Broadlands I always had a married couple. The woman cooked the meals and looked after the house and the poultry. Some women liked also to do a bit in the garden. One dear old thing wanted to have a separate garden all to herself. So we fenced in and dug up a piece of ground for her. I felt I could spare it out of fifty-three thousand acres! In her private domain therefore, she raised immense quantities of weeds, but also quite considerable supplies of vegetables. It was her peculiar pride and great delight to succeed in having a few peas or anything on the table in advance of the main crop in the house garden. Then there was great rejoicing in her good old simple heart. A most excellent woman: and clever too. She invented the two-storey garden. On the ground-floor were her lettuces, cabbages and such other humble “stick-in-the-mud” things. On stakes, the aspirants such as pumpkins, vegetable marrows, and the like, pursued their upward and onward course and crawled outwards along the horizontal rails. Their fruit drooping down formed a most impressive and appetizing sight.

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The husband in the married couple took whatever job he was suited for — usually roustabout, sometimes shepherd, seldom teamster. Nearly always they would help their better-half in the evenings: and in the mornings they were the first up, made the fire and took her a cup of tea before she left the shelter of the sheets.

So the “married woman” toiled on from month to month without ever seeing another member of her own sex upon whom to exercise her conversational gifts. Of course Maori women were about from time to time, but did not seem to become familiar — indeed, strange as it may seem to Europeans, they are inclined to be shy with folk not of their own race and even not of their own tribe.

At times a daughter would come with her mother to bear her company: but, as a rule, our housekeeper was the only white woman within many miles.

One exception was rather outstanding. The reader will remember mention of a ploughman in the out-paddocks occupying a residence of about ten feet by six feet. When he left me to take up a farm of his own I engaged a new man in his place. This man had not been with me very long when he asked for a few days to visit his folk in Tauranga. About the fourth day he wired for funds to see him home. This is a well established custom and I remitted the money. Judge of my surprise when he arrived with a bride! The trifle he took with him, added to a contribution from the girl's father, enabled him to take on the holy bonds of matrimony. The ten by six hut proving rather inadequate for two he got a tent which formed a sort of extension; and here when her time was fully accomplished, the wife brought forth a male child. Think of that my fair sisters of the city with your downy couches, your skilled doctors, your trained nurses, your anaesthetics, and everything the wit of man can devise to ease your labours! Contrast your lot with page 109 that of this poor woman courageously facing her crisis in this hut with no attendant but an old Maori woman. Of such are the pioneers and conquerors of the wilderness. This first birth of a white baby on Broadlands occurred in 1927.

Other women I well remember were the wife and daughter Harold brought out from the Homeland. The daughter proved to be the sweetest, prettiest little pink and white English lassie of about eight years, all smiles and friendliness. She soon became the pet of the place — quite an asset. These good folk spoke a strange tongue. The first evening the woman put no plates on the table so I rang the bell and she came to the door.

“Will you bring some plates, please?” She stared and asked:

“Eh, whaart?”

“Will you please bring some plates?” A short pause for study then:

“Oh plaartes” and off she went for those articles which we consider so necessary. Next morning the little girl ran up to me and said:

“Oh, Mr. Veale have you seen the loovely wee grey cart that's coom?” As I had noticed a strange tabby kitten about I could understand what she said.

It is a pity that emigration authorities at Home do not teach their emigrants to speak English. When they use the dialect of Somerset, Lancashire, or Northumberland they get most unmercifully ridiculed by fellow-workers in the Dominion and generally suffer by being “not understood.”

The young girl mentioned above grew in stature and importance and one day bought some goods in the store. Asked whether she wished to pay, she made answer: “Put it down to Pa.” Subsequently these imperative words became quite a “gag” on the station. “Put it down to Pa!”

A very capable woman I remember in the earliest stages had a family of five children, a husband, and two cadet boys besides page 110 myself to “do for,” to say nothing of occasional visitors. And the facilities in those days were not too good. The washhouse with copper boiler and fixed tubs with water laid on had not yet been built. Washing was done out in the open — there was nowhere else to go, anyway! When rain did not choose to fall on our roof we had either to cart water up to the back yard or take the clothes down to the river.

And another prominent in my memory came towards the end of my residence, pleasant and cheerful, well-looking and hard-working, always singing about her work and honest as the day is long.

Altogether a capable bunch and indispensable if one is to enjoy any sort of comfort in the uncivilized waybacks.

Most of the women on Broadlands have been well contented. It is the men who get restless. A great evil from the employer's point of view is the accumulation of funds in the pockets of regular hands. They have no means of spending their wages. Their food is found. Their clothes consist of what they have saved up while in town. Clothes are quite comme il faut in the backblocks, so long as the area of the cloth portions somewhat exceeds the area of the holes portion — if I may so express my self: and provided also that large holes do not occur in awkward situations. There are no pictures, no pubs, nowhere to spend their money. Consequently it accumulates. It is surprising how few men can stand having money. A hundred pounds — what a huge sum! Why endure toil and drudgery when you have abundant means of enjoyment wasting in your pocket? So off they go nobly to exemplify that what they spend forms some other fellow's income.

Women of the cities, with every convenience at hand, have no idea of the difficulties and inconveniences of the backblocks. Collecting wood for the fire; drying it and getting it to burn; fetching water and boiling it for the weekly wash in kerosene page 111 tins over an open fire in the back yard; effecting the said wash in the said tins; drying the said wash in the open air — and rain; cooking the daily bread and other baked food in a “camp” or “colonial” oven. This most useful article was invented by David Strachan, a Wanganui immigrant. Perhaps I had better describe it for it is never seen nowadays. Messrs. Shacklock and others have beaten it to death. It consisted, then, of a hollow iron spheroid extremely oblate, measuring about eighteen inches horizontally and nine inches vertically, and standing on legs from six to nine inches high, the top or lid lifting off. This was placed in the midst of the fire and glowing embers were heaped over it. In competent hands it produced surprisingly good food.

Here's to the good old days! And here's to the better old women who overcame all deficiencies and difficulties!