Hanson-Allen Family

80 Years in New Zealand

by Charles Hanson Allen

Chapter Two - Teenage Surveyor

About 1880, there were several plagues of caterpillars in New Zealand. One was near Turakina township. They would go from crop to crop, leaving nothing behind but the bare stalks of oats and wheat. This was in spite of the farmers making fires of straw and fern to protect the crops. Instead, the caterpillars would crawl into the fires and put them out. Then the rest would proceed to the next crop. The farmers also tried to crush them with a heavy roller drawn by horses, but this proved of no avail at all.

The caterpillars crossed the railway line near Turakina Railway Station, and the trains were kept at a standstill for some hours. As soon as the train would try to start, the wheels crushed the caterpillars, but then slipped and could not grip the rails, despite the use of sand sprinkled on the rains by the engine and by hand. Until the vermin had crossed the railway line, the train could not proceed on its way. I later saw in a United States' newspaper, that caterpillars were so plentiful in New Zealand that they had been known to even stop trains.

A while later, the Acclimatisation Association decided to import some sparrows from England to get rid of the pests (i.e. caterpillars). Several pairs were let go at Wanganui and one pair made a nest in the gutter of our house. My brother and I watched until they had hatched five eggs, but before the hatchlings were quite fledged and able to fly away, we took possession of them and kept them in a cage.

A little while later, a farmer from Upper Hutt was at Wanganui enquiring to see if he could get some sparrows to take back with him. Someone who knew we had these birds told him to go and see the Allen boys, which he did. He made a deal with us for the lot, and paid us five shillings a pair for them. Later on, sparrows increased to such in numbers that they became a nuisance and stayed in the towns like gentlemen. They no longer went out into the country to eat up the caterpillars like they were supposed to do. I wondered why, and it was only years later that I solved the problem. I found out that the suppliers of sparrows in England had found it much easier to catch house sparrows than hedge sparrows, the ones that were really ordered.

I understand these sparrows cost £6/10/- a pair delivered in New Zealand. Later, hedge sparrows were imported, but they do not seem to have increased like house sparrows. These in later years increased to such an extent that they became a decided nuisance to all farmers and gardeners. Some idiot suggested that Australian mynahs be imported and that they would destroy the sparrows' nests and so get rid of them. The mynahs certainly destroyed the sparrows' nests, but they then built in them themselves and became a bigger nuisance than the sparrows had been. Nowadays  - 1944 - both sparrows and mynahs seem to have decreased a lot; and I sincerely hope that they will soon become as defunct as Nazi Germany will before long.

The trains from Wellington to New Plymouth used to meet at Turakina some years ago. They would pass each other on double lines and then back again, so that the guard's van of each train touched the other. This was for the convenience of those transferring goods from one van to the other. One time, a Maori looking on thought it would be a great joke to couple the two trains together, which he did. The trains used to start their journeys at the same time. This time, when the signal rang, neither of the trains, which were of equal strength, could make much progress. Each would only get a few yards before the other pulled it back the other way. The Maori clapped his hands and said, "Kapai (i.e. good!) Wellington!" Then when the other train gained a few yards, he said "Kapai Wanganui!" After the trick was discovered, "Hori" got six months' hard labour in Wanganui jail for his prank. Still, I think he thought it was worth the holiday at the State's expense.

About this time, Mr Willie Watt, Mayor of Wanganui, agreed to let the borough of the town take water for the town supply from Westmere, a lake on his property about five miles from Wanganui. This was because the supply from Virginia Water (now called Virginia Lake) could no longer supply enough water for the town's requirements. So a new pipeline was laid between the two lakes. I happened to be assisting Mr R.J. Stewart at the time. We laid out the new line and took the levels for the purpose. I had to hold the level staff, which was about twenty feet high when fully extended. There was generally a strong breeze from the sea, and I nearly "bust my boiler" holding it against the breeze. However, I managed to do this job, although I was only a slight-built lad at the time. Mr Stewart was one of the best men I ever worked with. A real gentleman.

Mr Watt had a sheep-dip that drained into Westmere, and he asked the Borough to install a new concrete dip along with the necessary yards, some distance away from the lake so as not to contaminate it. The Borough quite reasonably agreed to it. Still, some people thought that Mr Watt was a bit grasping in asking for these things, but I myself thought this a quite reasonable request. Later the Wanganui people decided to erect a Watt Memorial Water Fountain at the intersection of Victoria Avenue and Ridgway Street. This was done, but some car drivers thought it a bit of a nuisance and have to drive around. One of them sent a short poem to the paper, that went something like this:

"The Watt Memorial fountain,

We wish it were in Africa or somewhere else hot.

Where its waters could as merrily flow.

To honour Willie Watt."

This fountain has long been removed to Rutland Hill, near the present library.

In 1884, my mates and I went up the Wanganui River to do some survey work there. It was a wet, cold job for the winter time, as this was June. As we knew we had to cross a stream several times on the way there, and that the water would be cold, we took a bottle of whiskey to help us on the way. After crossing this stream several times, my mates suggested having a tot. I undid my swag and produced the bottle, but as I could not get the cork out, I pushed it into the bottle. After having one nip, I made a wooden plug to take the place of the cork, and then put the bottle in the middle of my swag - inside the boss's underclothes and possum rug.

Now, my boss was a staunch teetotaller and was to come up to our camp the next day. When we got to our camping place, I opened my swag to let us have another go, but to my surprise I found the wooden cork had come out and the rest of the whiskey had all been absorbed in the boss's belongings. Well, this would probably be the end of our job, we thought, when the boss arrived. I had hung the clothing out in the sun most of the day, but it still smelt very strongly of the whiskey. However, the boss never made the slightest remark about it. He was a great diplomat and knew that we were not very keen on the nasty job ahead. So he would not give us the satisfaction of throwing it up.

One day, Ben, one of our mates, showed us a pine tree at which he had fired his carbine, and also from where he had fired it about 1,000 yards away. The bullet was exactly in the circle bull's eye. All had had a good bit of practice with the carbine, and we knew that at more than a short distance away from a target, it was hard to it, Still, Ben swore on his oath that where he fire from was exactly as he told us. It was some years later that he told us that he had fired at the pine tree first and cut the bull's eye ring round it - after he had found where he had hit the tree. At the distance, he was lucky to hit the tree as it was only about four feet in diameter.

Later on during our work, we had to go further and get down into this gorge over a cliff about seventy or eighty feet high. To do so, we joined all the straps of our swags together and climbed down to the level of the stream. I, being the lightest, lowered our swags to the others and then doubled the straps round a tree. I then climbed about half-way down to a little shrub and hauled the straps down to it. That way I got to the bottom. (Note: He appears to have partially abseiled down, without actually tying the straps anywhere. However, his explanation is complicated.)

We camped on a mud flat for several weeks (on this occasion) and, although it was then mid-winter, we were greatly troubled by blowflies. They blew our blankets and bedding, and all our food. When we put tea in the billy, we had to strain out the fly blows, and also after adding sugar. The only thing free of fly blows was the tinned meat, which had to be eaten at once or it would be blown. An empty tin thrown out in the morning, would by evening be full up of fly blow, with flies embedded like plums in a cake. We used to put these tins in the fire to destroy them.

There was a tree-fern tree cut down by the tent and the flies also used to blow the gum that oozed from it. Also, the heat of our bodies hatched the fly blows in our blankets and the maggots used to wriggle round us and spoil our sleep. The boss came later on and only stayed the night - and did not eat anything while he was in our camp. This was one of the worst times I have had to endure with blowflies, and I should not like to go through this experience again.

One time in camp, the cook got back to camp late and found the only meat left was well fly blown. So he made a good stew of it, with potatoes and some rice to disguise the fly blows. We had a good feed and quite enjoyed it, but had we known of the fly blows in disguise, we should have gone without our tea.

I remember being very thirsty once when travelling in very hot weather. I had to cross a large valley and found a little trickle of water coming down it, so had a good drink and felt better. On going about a chain or so higher up this little stream, I found a dead bullock that was getting very high - and the little stream went in one end of it and came out the lower end. It made me feel rather sick, but I had another drink further up and felt much better than I had a few minutes before.

This reminds me of a friend of mine, who went with others to the Coolgardie Goldfields, Western Australia, some fifty-odd years ago. They bought horses and a full rig-out at Perth and got to the fields alright. But while there, most of their horses died from poisonous weeds etc., and the Aboriginals gave them such a bad time that they had to leave everything and start walking out. However, they lost their way and missed the tank (water hole) and were just about done for when they came across a tank. There was plenty of water, but there was a 'fly in the ointment' in the form of a dead horse that had been in the tank for several weeks. It was high, but they all went down on their knees and had a good drink with as few maggots as they could dodge.

They at last got back to Perth and New Zealand, but my friend, who died only a few years ago, told me that he could still taste that dead horse, although this had occurred some fifty years ago. I think this must have been a really strong horse and he should have entered for the Melbourne Cup in his younger days.

This reminds me of a man who had been on the drink for several days, and when he came round he said: "Time flies, money flies, blow flies and sand flies."

Later on, when the .......(summer?....... had come, we were not far from this rotten stream, ...(again?)... but we had heaps of peaches, cherries, plums and quinces. Also lots of wild honey. In fact, nearly every hollow tree had bees in it with beautiful white combs. One Saturday, after we had knocked off work, we cut down one big tree and took the combs out. We laid them on some sacks, so as to be able to pick out only the very best of the honey, as there was far more than we could be bothered with. First, though, one of my mates threw a chunk of comb at the other, and then we had a general honey fight. Didn't we get in a mess!

We went down to the next stream and jumped in, clothes and all. Several had forgotten to take off their watches - and they had a good swim as well. Cold water removed all traces of the honey, and we shook the water out of our watches. We filled them with kerosene when we got back to the camp, and left them until next morning. Then we shook out what kerosene was left and they were quite alright again.

I often clean my watches with kerosene when they are dirty and won't go, as it acts as oil to the watch and "ofsets the offsets" (? perhaps should be: 'stops the rust by') the drying out of the benzine, and saves 6/8d to the watchmaker, or possibly more but that was the average cost at the time.

I was in charge of a Survey Party for my father, George Fred. Allen, and we were starting up the Waitotara River the day before the murder of McLean. I had to stay behind that day, waiting for some plans and field books, which were expected to come next day from Wanganui. I then wrote a letter acknowledging receipt of the plans etc. and started to walk overland to catch up with my party. They were about ten miles up the river, at a place called Awakari.

In my hurry to get away, I forgot to post my letter until I had gone several miles into my journey. It was too late to go back to Waitotara, so I thought I would have the luck of some Maori taking it for me. I met Kereopa and his brother Hiroki, and asked them to post it, and continued my journey. It was some months later on before I had any news of the murder. Apparently my letter was never posted by Kereopa, and I got into a bit of a row for not saying I had received the plans etc.

Now the place were I met Kereopa was only two miles from the Moumahaki Stream, where the murder took place. McLean had only been employed by the Survey Party there for a week, as cook, and was a poor harmless individual. The Maoris had no set on him, but it was to show the Surveyors that the Maoris considered that all the wild pigs in the district belonged to them. The Surveyors had been killing them for meat and the Maoris wanted 'Utu' (payment) for the pigs.

I was told later on that the night before the murder, Hiroke and Kereopa played a game of cards at Eiler's hotel, Waitotara, and the loser was to commit the murder the next day. Hiroke lost and had to do the evil deed. Probably I was lucky. I might have been the corpse. I was16 then and it would be 1882. (Note: This murder occurred in late 1878 and Charlie would then have been thirteen years old.)

In 1887, I was chain-man in charge of the District Survey party, laying off a road up the western bank of the Waitotara River. The only means then of transport was by canoe, by which means we travelled from place to place and carried out requirements in the way of provisions etc., and moved our camp as required. 

We usually worked a few miles up the river from our camp and when the work was getting too far away for our convenience, we would go up the river a few miles and look for a good camping spot, before moving our existing camp.

On the day before moving, we found a site we thought would be suitable for a camp, and whilst ashore there some Maoris across the river saw us and called out in Maori, "What are you doing there?" I called out that we were looking for a new camping ground. They replied, "Don't camp there, the place is tapu (sacred)." I replied that it would make no difference to us as we were Pakehas and tapu would not affect us. In fact, it would be a good thing as the Maoris would not be so likely to come over and steal our things, as they had been in the habit of doing elsewhere. So we decided to camp there. 

The place was a bush clearing, burnt off and in grass with stumps and logs all about - some ten acres in area. It was nearly square, with standing bush on three sides, but open to the river at the front. We moved our camp there the next day and pitched our camp almost in the north-most corner of the clearing, as there was plenty of good manuka firewood there, and also a small stream for water. The site was sheltered from any wind, and was a sunny spot when there was any sun - which was seldom, being winter then.

Everything being in order, we sat down to our well-earned tea, when to our surprise a big bull mastiff called 'Niho' (tooth) and which I owned, started to bark and growl furiously. His hair along his back, was standing on end, and his tail was between his legs. He was evidently very frightened of something and came in behind us. It was nearly dark then and we could see nothing whatsoever. 

Now this dog was not frightened of wild pigs or cattle, and would catch any of them without any fear whatever. We could not understand his manner at all, but there appeared to be something uncanny walking past the camp towards the river, and the dry cocksfoot stalks appeared to crackle as though someone was walking through it slowly.

It gave us all a queer feeling, so each of us picked up a hunk of wood and followed the walking sound down to the river. Sometimes we got ahead of it, but that did not appear to stop its' walking. It seemed as if it passed through us, but did not affect us in any way. Nothing could be seen and so we returned to camp.

Now the same thing happened every night about the same time. We were at this camp for five or six weeks. There were five in my party, one being Fred Field, the bisector of the atom and in later life a great authority on earthquakes. His father (Wanganui civil engineer Henry Claylands Field, who was also father of Henry Augustus Field M.P., and William Hughes Field, M.P. - ed.) was the authority on New Zealand ferns. About two weeks later on there was a full moon and the night was almost as clear as daylight, but even then we could see nothing, though we often investigated.

Shortly after, a party of Maoris came over the river to shoot pigeons. I asked then why the place was tapu, and they asked if anything had disturbed us. I replied "No", but told them something appeared every night, about dark, to come out of the bush by our camp and to walk down to the river. They said we were to move away at once, or we would all die, telling us a man was murdered there many years ago about two chains from our camp. They added that if we looked in the bush, we would see a long stone set upright on the spot where the man was murdered. This we discovered alright. 

As I laid the road off close to it, I expect it is now a formed road and probably travellers by night will find it a bit eerie. The Maoris would not eat or drink anything at our camp. Being tapu, they said it would poison them if they did. Later on I was having my lunch a few miles down and offered some plum duff to children who were playing about. They would not take it and, thinking they were shy, I went toward them. However, in sheer fright, they ran for their lives. Evidently they knew of the tapu and would die if they ate it.

We had to leave this camp in a hurry for urgent work some hundred miles away, and I offered the flour and sugar we had on hand to the Maoris across the river. However, they refused it, saying they would die if they took possession of uncooked food. So we gave it to some Maoris some twenty miles further on. I've never been back to see or hear if any of them died, but hope some day to visit the ghost camp to see if the same weird things still happen.

While camped there, the District Surveyor came to visit us, and I pitched his tent nearer the place where the murder took place. After hearing the ghost stories, he said, "Charlie, I want you to sleep in my tent," which I was rather amused at. However, I did so at his request, asking him if he was afraid - which he would not acknowledge.

In about 1882, I was chain-man for my father, surveying the Mangapapa Block of some 30,000 acres. This was some forty-five miles up the Waitotara River in Taranaki. We expected this work to take some six weeks, and took provisions for eight weeks. But this country was so rough and the bush so dense with undergrowth and supplejacks, that we were greatly delayed with the work. 

The first few miles we ate our fill, but then we could see that we would have to shorten our rations and tighten our belts - or else we would not have enough food to complete the work. At the end of six weeks, we had no food except wild pork, which was so starved and thin that it was only skin and bone and almost impossible to eat. As we had used up the salt and had only mustard to help the pork down, along with boiled fern roots from the Mokau Fern. and a few Hinau berries and tree mushrooms.

We kept on with our work for, I think, 112 days, and then we decided that we could not hang out any longer to finish the job, on such poor fare. So we left our camp and tramped to the Waitotara River, this trip taking us two days. The last day we had one pigeon between the five of us, but we could not eat it as it had been feeding on Kowhai berries and was as bitter as gall.

On reaching the river late that evening, we found a party of Maoris who were fishing and trying to get some wild pigs etc. They had some potatoes, a 100lb bag of flour, a little tea and sugar, and I can tell you we all did enjoy the first real meal we had had for weeks.

During the night, it blew a heavy gale and there was heavy rain, thunder and lightning, and a terrible earthquake. This would be the morning of 26 June 1882. We heard weeks later on that all the chimneys in Wanganui had been thrown down or so damaged that they had to be pulled down or rebuilt. During this night, we heard great falls of big trees in the bush, which sounded like explosions. We could not account for this except that the heavy rain had loosened the ground and the gale had blown the trees down.

Luckily for us we were camped on a clearing of about an acre, as had we still been in the camp in the bush we should have been killed, as later when we returned to our last two camps we found them strewn and covered with large trees and branches.

The name of the clearing we were in when these awful things happened, was 'Te Ara Te Haunui' (The road of the big wind), a most suitable name to be sure.

The next morning when I got up to light the fire and get breakfast, the country was covered with snow some eight inches deep. I had to find kindling under the snow. My, it was cold!

After managing to get my fire going with a lot of trouble, the sun came out and the effect was really beautiful as the snow started to melt from the trees. Each drop of water appeared to be a diamond, and it was a wonderful sight to behold. I remember saying at the time that it was really beautiful, but I hope to God that I will never see snow again. Unfortunately I have since had more than my share of it.

The bush there had not been used to snow for many years, and as it was not used to it, the weight of the snow on the branches easily broke them or pulled the trees over by the roots. Sometimes they split right down the centre. 

Peakei, a chief, who was interested in the survey of this block and who gave us the flour, sugar etc. mentioned before, said, "Allen, take my advice now and return to your work - work all fine Sundays and on wet Sundays pray to God and send your boys out pig-hunting."