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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 14, Issue 7 (October 2, 1939)

A Literary Page or Two

A Literary Page or Two

In all of the written tributes paid to the late “Robin Hyde” no mention has been made of her talents as a public speaker. There was nothing particularly musical about the tonal qualities of her voice, yet it conveyed an indefinable something that appealed instantly to the listener. Then the material of words at her command was no less wide than was her knowledge. Her earnest belief in her subject impressed irresistibly, whether you were with her in this belief or not. I met her first, about ten years ago at the Wellington Town Hall, when she addressed one of the largest political gatherings in the history of the city. To many of those present it was obvious, of course, that the large audience was present for entertainment only. They would not listen to anybody. In the height of the uproar the frail figure of a girl limped slowly to the platform; she held her hand aloft. The uproar subsided immediately, and for nearly an hour there was complete silence, broken at intervals by shouts of applause from the audience.

The speaker was “Robin Hyde” and her subject, “The Rights of Women.” It was, indeed, a marvellous speech for one just out of her ‘teens.

The next time I head Robin speak was at the Auckland University. No mob psychology to work on here—just a cold, critical coterie of intellectuals. Robin spoke for an hour and a-half, seemingly on every subject under the sun, and the listeners were with her every word of the way.

I heard from Robin in a letter dated just a month before she died. A letter so typical of her; she wrote about a copy of Thomas a Kempis a friend had given her before leaving New Zealand; of her latest book, of the place of sex in literature; of her great grand-uncle Sebastion Sircom; of D'Arcy Cresswell, John Guthrie, Oliver Duff, Alison Grant; of a five-pound note endorsed “for oranges” sent to her by a thoughtful New Zealand friend and which, incidentally paid her rent and other things; of New Zealand reviewers (“one wonders why the hate began but one can only accept it impersonally or smash up”), and finally she wrote about Mana Island.

Robin referred to Mana Island because I had told her of a little seaside cabin I had at Plimmerton. Mana Island had been sadly hidden from sight by a big sandhill opposite my section. One week-end when I ran out to my cabin the sandhill was gone and Mana lay shining in the sun in the blue distance. A Public Works bulldozer had removed the hill during the week, in order to improve the visibility at the railway crossing. All this I had told Robin.

(Rly. Publicity photo.) The Bowen Falls, Milford Sound, South Island.

(Rly. Publicity photo.)
The Bowen Falls, Milford Sound, South Island.

“Fancy your Plimmerton cabin,” she wrote. “Oh New Zealand is so good, and except for glimpses, England is not. I'm glad Bob Semple gave you Mana Island. Ever seriously studied the word?”

And these are the last words Robin will ever address to me. As I write this tribute to her I look from my window at Plimmerton and see Mana Island in the distance. The sea is rough and a small yacht is battling through the waves.

In “Robin Hyde's” brief journey through the troubled sea of life, she saw much and achieved much before the waves closed over her. And whether life be long or brief, it is achievement that gives it purpose.

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I remember in the last issues of the “New Zealand Artists’ Annual” a feature strongly prophetic in its estimate of values. It was called “The Annual's Annual Discovery,” wherein was starred some writer or artist, hitherto unknown, whose work was mentioned as showing great promise for the future. One of the discoveries was Mrs. Mary Scott, now a successful writer of numerous books. One year the “discovery” honour was given to a girl of sixteen years, Miss Roma Hoggard. That was seven years ago. I have seen stray poems and stories from her since in worthwhile magazines in Australia and New Zealand. Now her first collection of poems has been published, “Interlude” (The Handcraft Press, Wellington) proving the interesting development of her talent. There are about thirty poems and they all bear the mark of a sweet sincerity. The reviewer may notice that Miss Hoggard has found a new thought for word music—she has written a poem about a clothes line, and made it a magic thing. So the “New Zealand Artists’ Annual” discovered the girl of sixteen who, a few years later, was to sing a song of clothes lines! Ken Alexander writes an understanding introduction to the booklet.

page 50 page 51

In the estimate of the collector of New Zealand books, historical items come first. I find a greater interest, however, in collecting New Zealand verse and fiction. For the present the latter items may be purchased at very easy prices at current book auction sales. The first editions of such famous New Zealand novels as “The Greenstone Door” (Satchell) and “The Story of a New Zealand River” (Jane Mander) are destined to be very rare items although they are still purchasable occasionally for seven or eight shillings. The first books of some of our leading New Zealand poets are, however, becoming increasingly difficult to obtain. Take for instance Eileen Duggan's first small book of verse, or Jessie Mackay's “Ballads,” published in 1889, or Dick Harris's “Monodies,” almost impossible to obtain these days. Yet there is more recent verse becoming just as rare: “Robin Hyde's” “Desolate Star,” the first one or two issues of “New Zealand's Best Poems,” etc. Another item more recent and containing some of the finest poetry written by a New Zealander—“Aldeberan,” by Alan Mulgan, is worth having. Only a few copies were printed of this rare booklet of verse.

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