Hanson-Allen Family

80 Years in New Zealand

Chapter One - School Days

By Chas E.H. Allen (written c1944)

Charlie Hanson wrote this manuscript of his life history, but it was never published. The typed volume contains 78 pages and hopefully in time the whole manuscript will be on this website. This chapter contains the first 7 pages. Charlie went from being a slightly rebellious schoolboy in Wanganui, NZ, in the 1870s, through time as a surveyor and farmer in the New Zealand bush, to Mayor of Frankton. Frankton was then a railways town, but it is now part of the city of Hamilton. Later he returned to the Wanganui area, where he eventually died. It has been subjected to very slight editing during this present transformation, but this is to correct grammar and make sentences more coherent when required. It has been transcribed by Val Burr [MA(Hons) History], in January 2001. Where something is clearly inaccurate historically, this has been noted with the correct information. 

I was born at Wanganui on 25th June, 1866. Mr father was George Frederic Allen, Architect and Surveyor. He served his articles with his father's firm, Allen, Snooke and Stock, London. This firm designed many of the principle warehouses on the Thames Embankment. Allen Senr. designed the beautiful facades at each end of London Bridge across the Thames.

It had been arranged that when my father had completed his articles, that he would be taken into the firm as a junior partner. However, my father, then at 21 years of age, preferred to venture. He went to New Zealand with a friend, Captain Young, who had been to New Zealand a few years before. Young proposed that they should start a sawmill on the Great Barrier Island, to mill kauri timber to send to Auckland or elsewhere as seemed best.

They collected all the money they could between them and bought large steam boilers and sawmilling machinery, firebricks, etc., that were required for the purpose and brought them by sailing vessel, arriving at the Great Barrier Island in 1860. The boilers were plugged to keep the water out and then lowered from the ship, into the sea and floated ashore. The machinery etc. was landed in due course and after a lot of hard work and worry the mill was finally got into working order, with the help of white men and Maoris.

They erected whares for the men, also a cook house, but while they were camped in the tents, my father said to Captain Young that there was a curious fungus on his blankets. On inspection, Captain Young said, "Fungus be blowed. It's fly-blow," much to my father's disgust. Of course, new blankets seem always to attract the blowflies, no doubt due to the dressing used in the manufacture.

The sawmill was getting on nicely until the first Maori (New Zealand) War broke out about 1864 (sic - the mill closed early in 1863). After this there was no possibility of them carrying on the mill, as there was no sale for the timber. They managed to pay off their men and, having no money left, they decided to throw up the mill and go to Auckland. Arriving there, work was almost unobtainable and they had to take anything they could get. 

(Note: Charlie's brother Ralph commented on 25 November 1951 that "By this time, Allen and Young had spent most of their capital and owing to this, and probably also to the first Maori War coming on, decided to close the mill and seek work in Auckland instead." He added that, regarding the sawmill on Great Barrier Island of 1860, "Father [GFA] told me that he and Capt. young built what was then the largest dam in New Zealand on a stream, some miles from the sea. [The} then started their men felling kauri trees - cross-cutting and rolling logs into the streambed. For some eighteen months there was no rain to fill the dam, [but] they kept the men going, hoping to get all the logs washed down to the sea when it did rain. Then it started to rain, and went on and on - filled up the dam, which overflowed and broke away. All the kauri logs went down to the sea in one wild rush, broke the boom which had been prepared to hold them, and went out to sea. A few of the logs were salvaged and towed to Auckland, but the majority scattered far and wide, and were lost.")

While at Auckland, my father met a Mr Barnard, with whom he went into partnership. They designed the first St. Matthew's Church and it still stands. It is now used as a Sunday School alongside the new church. I had just bought my first radio at Tauranga and the man had just erected it, when the first item I heard over it was the parson of St. Matthews asking all people to subscribe to repaint and renew these buildings. As my father helped design the first church and was married to my mother in it shortly after it was built, I felt bound to send them a cheque for as much as I could spare at the time.

Later, my father and Barnard managed to get appointed by the  Government to the District Survey Department at Wanganui, at a salary of £300 per annum and allowances. My father arranged for his fiancée to come from England to marry him. She came by the sailing vessel Ganges, after a long passage of some seven months, arriving at Auckland in 1863. My father met her at Auckland and they were married at St. Matthew's. 

My father had asked for three months' holiday for his honeymoon, but the Survey Department was very busy then and much behind with its work. So they told him that he could only allow him a month then, but that he could have the rest off later when they were not so pressed with work. So my father, foolishly I think, sent in his resignation at once and started private surveying. He got on well for a time, and then the second Maori (New Zealand) War started and all work had to cease. He joined the militia for a time, and they started a private school at Wanganui. 

The Gilfillan family were murdered at this time by some Maori youths, and in cold blood. Some of them were left for dead, but were rescued and looked after. They recovered, but still had the scars on their heads where they had been struck with the Maori's tomahawk. One girl hid in the flax bushes with the baby and so saved its life. Our soldiers caught these Maori boys shortly after and they were hanged in the Market Place. Our troops and guns were all lined up there, as it was expected other hostile Maoris would make an attack on our people. However, as we had a pretty fair number of troops and settlers, they kept quite, evidently thinking discretion the better part of valour. (Note: in fact this event occurred on 18 April 1847, when George Frederic Allen was a nine-year-old still living in London - VB)

A little later, Jock McGregor was chased by the Maoris from his farm near Cherry Bank. He got partly over the hill at Shakespeare's Cliff, with the Maoris close on his heels and his only way of escape was to jump over the cliff into the river and to start swimming. Our troops sent a boat to rescue him. All the time he was swimming, the Maoris were firing at him. One bullet passed through his cheek and knocked out several teeth. He undoubtedly had a very close shave. (Note: this event occurred on 1 July 1847)

The people of Wanganui gave a swell dinner in honour of the Imperial Troops, who had been fighting along with out own men for a long time back. Mr Shafto Harrison, a well known farmer, was as usual made chairman of the meeting. During the course of the nation's toasts, he said, "Gentlemen, the next toast is the ..." Then, turning to his secretary, said, "Jordan, what is the toast?" Jordan replied, "The Army, Mr Harrison." He continued, "I was just going to say the next toast would be ..., when the Secretary so rudely interrupted me, would be the ..." Turning again to the Secretary, said "What's the toast the Army, Sir, he says the Army, I say the Army, the Navy and the Volunteers." 

Shortly after he collapsed in his chair, but he was a real sport. In later years an old lady friend called on him and asked what he was going to do the next day. Mr Harrison replied that he would go to the races as he had done in the last sixty years. "Oh, Mr Harrison, I have given all these things up." He replied, "No, no my dear madam. You have grown old and they have given you up."

Mr Harrison was married twice, and one day he happened to be in Wanganui, when a lady friend came up to him and said, "Oh, Mr Harrison, I was so very sorry to hear of your wife's accident." He replied, "It's the first I've heard of it. What was it?" "A vicious bull charged Mrs Harrison in her buggy." He replied, "Well, it must have been a very courageous bullock."

An old lady friend of his called to see him and said, "Mr Harrison, you have not been to see me for a long time." He replied, "You know I am not so fond of riding now. It tires me." "But why don't you get Mrs Harrison to drive you over some time." He replied, "Thank you, Mrs Harrison drives me quite sufficiently."

I lived in Wanganui for some twenty years. People often ask at what age a person can begin to remember things. I can clearly remember Major von Tempskey visiting my parents' at St. Hill Street, Wanganui. I  thought that he was a tall man, dressed in a blue uniform, with silver bands on his tunic like ribs on each side, and silver stripes down his trouser legs. I was greatly taken with his sword, which he drew out and showed me. He let me feel it and was afraid of (me?) getting cut with the edge. It was so bright and shining that it looked like silver to me. The scabbard was chased (sic) and engraved - all so wonderful to me. Major von Tempskey was killed in a fight, during an ambush by the Maoris at Te Ngutu O Te Mana [the beak of the bird] on 7 September 1868, so I would then have been two years and two months old.

Jim Crawley, a mate of mine, was a trooper in the Kai Iwi Cavalry, and was in camp there during the last Maori (New Zealand) War. The men who lived near the Redoubt, were allowed to go home for the night, so long as they were present on parade the next morning. One morning Crawley was late, and Colonel Shute said, "Crawley, why are you late?" He replied, "Please sir, I was detained milking the ducks." Consequently he got twenty-four hours C.B., which was very unfair, as the name of the cow was really 'Dux.'

Colonel Shute was a great martinet, and could not stand his men getting drunk. One evening he met a man returning to camp very drunk. The Colonel approached him and asked, "Why man, you are drunk?" The man replied, "Yes, I know I am drunk, but I will get the better of it in the morning." "You are a fool, you are," replied the Colonel. "You will never get the better of that. Report 48 hours C.B."

I can remember when the first sections of the cylinder for the Wanganui Bridge, the building of the bridge and the opening ceremony by Governor Bowen. My father took my elder brother (Fred) and me to see the opening, and took us partly across the bridge which was only partly rough-decked over temporarily. There seemed to be large spaces between the planks, and I was afraid that I would fall through them. Also, there was a gunboat - I think the name was the Gundagai - which fired blank shells. As they fell on the water, I expected to get shot. The date of the opening was about 1870, as near as I remember. (Note: The opening ceremony occurred on 29 November 1871.)

At about this time, there was a big flood in the river. The water came up over Taupo Quay, right up to Taylor & Watts' shops. There had been no reclamation done on the riverbank or retaining walls built then. I have a faint recollection of a punt for crossing the river before the bridge was built. Foot passengers had to pay one penny each to cross the bridge, horses three pence each and cattle the same. I think sheep paid one penny each. Many a time when I was short of pennies, I climbed down the piles at the town end and evaded payment. These tolls were on the bridge for many years before the bridge was made free of tolls. By then it had paid for its cost over three times.

When I was six years old, I picked up a little gooseberry plant on the bank of the Wanganui River. I took it home and planted it in my garden. To see how it was getting on, I used to dig it up every few days, with the result that it died. I remember feeling very downcast at the loss of this precious plant. Later my brothers and I used to pick the various flowers grown in our garden and suck the honey out of them. My father happened to come across the scene and gave us a lecture about the risk we took. He told us we might get poisoned and made each of us take a tablespoonful of that vile stuff - castor oil.

Now, my younger brother, strangely enough, liked castor oil, which we though had a very queer taste. We kept on pulling the various plants, so my father put socks on each of our hands and tied them behind our backs. After he had gone back to his office, we young beggars walked backwards to the flowers and pulled all the flowers off that we could see as revenge. When Dad returned and saw what we had done, he got one of his slippers and gave us each "what for why" on that part of our anatomy that nature so thoughtfully provided for that specific purpose.

Later on, I was sent to Mrs Jones' private school. One day, I played the wag from school, and was playing at a wheelwright's shop when my Dad appeared on the scene. He asked me what I was doing there and why I was not at school. I told him Mrs Jones was not well, so could not take the school. This put off going to school for a few days. Then my mother wrote to Mrs Jones and gave me a letter to take to her. I opened the letter, but could not read it, so I buried it in the sand hills. When I returned home, my mother said, "Did Mrs Jones not give you a letter in reply to mine?" I said, "No, she was too unwell to write."

Now Mrs Jones was a dear friend of my mother, so she went straight to see her that afternoon. Of course, she found Mrs Jones was quite well and had been wondering what had become of Charlie Allen. Now she knew. So did I. When my Dad came home to tea, I got a real good strapping, and was sent to bed with a slice of bread and a jug of water. Still, I got on pretty well, as my brothers managed to crib various things and trek up to my bedroom with them for me. Then I was sent to board at Mrs Jones', so had no chance to play the wag.

There was one other boarder then, Florence Beauchamp, whom I got on very well with. She was fairly fat and a little older than I was. She was always laughing and we had quite a good time. Now, Mrs Jones had a German woman cook, who used to make suet puddings about every other day. She used stacks of mutton fat in them and it used to stick to the roofs of our mouths. We could scrape it off with our finger.

In school, of which about half were boys and half were girls, one named Emma Hachet sat at her desk in front of me. She had white cotton stocking on. She offended me in some way or other, and I sprinkled ink all over her stockings. When she got home, her mother asked how she got the ink on her stockings, however, she did not know as this was the first she knew about it. Enquiries were made at school next morning and I was found to be the culprit as I had been drawing strokes and potholes with ink just behind her desk. I was forced to apologies before the whole school and felt quite a power of relief, as I think I had to pay for a new pair of stockings out of my savings, which must have been very small at the time.

I remember that there was a large flock of geese which used to roam all over the different streets. The ganders used to chase us if we went near the flock. I was very much afraid of them and would go round several blocks so as to avoid them. One day a girl not much older than me, was going down the street a little ahead of me when she almost ran straight into the flock. A big gander attacked her, so she grabbed it by the neck and threw it down on the ground. It again attacked her, and again she served it the same way and gave its neck a good twist. This evidently satisfied the gander, so he left her alone and went back to the flock. Now, I thought what a wonderful plucky girl she was. I never thought they had much pluck before this, and felt sure no boy of her age would have done a thing like this.

Later on I was sent to Davis' Private School. He was very strict in school and thrashed us really unmercifully for only trifling mistakes in our work. He would take us into his private room, hold our heads between his knees and hold one hand round our legs, make a stiff posture and give us beats with his cane that left us with black and blue bruises on us for several days. 

No doubt we required some punishment, but this was too severe. I don't know what would happen to a teacher nowadays who acted so severely. Mr Davis said to me one morning, "Allen, just where is your brother Fred this morning." I replied, "Please, sir, he had a bad headache and stayed at home." He replied, "He's got the fear ache, and I will give it to him tomorrow."

One day Mr Davis had been looking over my work and happened to leave the cane lying alongside me. I collared it and threw it behind a stack of boards near me. Just after that he wanted to threaten me and he said, "Where is the cane?" Where is the cane?" However, no-one but I knew and I didn't tell him. So I got off safely this time. At lunch time, I got the cane and cut it up, and my chums and I pushed it into the school ground. 

Now I always decided that when I grew up, I would give Davis a terrible hiding, but I did not meet him again until I was about eighteen years old. The old fellow came along the street walking so feebly and so aged, that I had not the heart to hit him. I thought possibly I deserved all I got from him.

I remember one lad at school was a half-cast Maori, who often brought cakes and buns to the school and was very generous with them. I often wondered where he got the money to buy them, until one day I happened to be some distance behind him. I saw him go behind some trees and take his boots off. I stayed where I was and watched him go into Hill's bakery and confectionery shop. There was a mat at the door which rang a bell in the shop if anyone trod on it. However, he carefully stepped over the mat and filled up the front of his shirt with cake and returned to school. I helped eat some of the cakes, but I did not like the idea of his having stolen them - and I was afraid to tell anyone about it for fear of getting into trouble myself. 

Going home from school, several of us used to milk some goats tethered behind Cook Gardens, into our hats and then drink the milk. They belonged to a Mrs Hindly. One time there was a circus and menagerie of animals camped there, including a llama tethered on the grass. We were looking at it and it came to the end of its tether, but we were afraid to go too close to it. Then one of my mates said, "Come away from it, its mangy." It certainly had some patches of hair missing. My mate spat at it and as he turned away, the llama screwed up its face and spat all over him, much to my mate's disgust. I have found out since that this is a cute habit of llamas, but I thought at the time that it was a very cute animal.

When I was about twelve, I was very fond of a girl called Birdie Rees. On St. Valentine's Day, she sent me a card with "Summer, Winter & Autumn & Spring, each season returning fresh gladness shall bring love as I await the one little word that decides my whole fate, answer me quickly, love, do not delay, answer me kindly, do not say nay." I sent her a card in return with "I will never forget you," which I am sorry to say I did almost at once.

We moved from St. Hill Street to Durie Town Hill, and there was a flagstaff not far away from us. The signalman, Nat Flowers, used to put up the various flags to show what ships were entering the port. Also, one ball, two, three or four balls, to show the state of the tides, and a ball at mast head at mid-day to give the time, which everybody kept their clocks by. Nat flowers used to go into town sometimes in the morning. So we boys used to go along and put the ball up for twelve o'clock, although it might only be ten o'clock. People were quite amazed to find that their clocks were all out of order. Also the tides and shipping signals varied according to our tastes. Being young and foolish, we never thought of all the trouble we were causing to everyone.

We caused a lot of trouble to some of our neighbours by moving prominent plants from one garden to the next door neighbour's, and causing them to accuse each other of stealing their plants. We thought it a great joke at the time, but we were too young and foolish to realise the result of our evil work.

Scab had broken out among the sheep flocks about Wanganui, and anyone having this trouble had to report it at once. They also had to put up notice boards on their road frontage saying "Scab here", and to kill or cure the sheep within so many days. Usually the sheep were either killed and the meat sold. Carts went round the district selling really beautiful legs and shoulders of mutton for as low as one shilling each. The rest of the sheep was boiled down for the fat. Otherwise the sheep was dipped in a strong dip of lime water, which cured the scab, but also spoilt the wool on the sheep for about a year or so.

Now there was a high gorse hedge along one of these roads over which we had to travel to school. It had grown over and covered one of these scab notices for some years, and then it was cut down. We moved this notice to the property of a man we had a set on, as he would not let us go bird-nesting on his farm. He was very wild about this and tried hard to find out who had done it. However, we kept quiet and did not let on till some years later. Anyhow, he was a pig of a man.

One day he caught me coming through his farm and told me if he ever caught me there again he would kick my pants. I thanked him and told him that I had, just before he met me, released a young unbroken horse of his, after a lot of difficulty in cutting the supplejack it had been tied up in, with my pocket knife. He did not even thank me.

Two former schoolmates of mine met one day in town. The first one had got a job as a reporter in a Sydney paper a while before, and had returned to Wanganui for a holiday. He said to the other, "What are you doing now Tom?" Tom replied, "I am a carpenter now." "You are a bit soft (financially), aren't you Tom?" "Yes" he replied. "Well, here is a half a crown for you Tom," to which Tom replied, "I've got another silly brother at home too." But he did not get an extra half crown.

My father bought some land near Wanganui on the Kaitoke Sea Beach, nearly all drifting sand, at five shillings per acre. Thinking it better not to have to clear the bush and scrub, he built a small house there. During the building of the house, he employed a man, who said he was a rough carpenter, to put the corrugated iron on the roof in my father's absence. However, he nailed the iron in the grooves instead of the ridges. Of course, the rain came through the roof like a sieve and it all had to be taken off and replaced the other side up. This man earned the sack and got it without any further delay.

My father and mother lived here for a few months only, and then went back to Wanganui. They took their old cat with them, but a few days later she was missing. Later they found her at the old home, with a family of five kittens. Now this cat had no means of getting to her old home except by swimming the Wanganui River, and this was some 250 yards wide at the narrowest place. Of course, we all know that cats, like young children, are not too fond of water. Still, I have seen a grown cat playing with the potatoes in a tin of water on a very frosty morning when the water was bitterly cold.

Continued...