Category Archives: heritage

A little Fiction

STORIES

The silence was constant, the darkness absolute but at least it was comfortable.  Of course, that was not completely true.  Sometimes there would be noise and light but only on rare occasions.  This was one of those occasions.  At first it was only a muffled clipping noise could be heard, plastic heels on a hard linoleum floor.  As the minutes ticked by the noise got louder until it stopped, so close.  They had heard the noise before, anticipation hung in the still air or perhaps it was just the dust motes waiting for something to disturb the stillness so that they at least could continue to be what they were, to do what they were meant to do – float lazily around finding surfaces to decorate.

Now a loud clicking as the tumblers in the old lock turned, a breath then a snap, crackle and pop.  The ancient and rarely used fluorescent lights shuddered on, illuminating row after row of metal shelves filled to the ceiling with anonymous brown boxes.  Each box was numbered and some of the older ones even had labels, browning around the edges, peeling, faded but labels all the same.  Testimony, that someone had once cared.

From its cushioned interior the broken pot waited, perhaps this time it would be chosen.  Broken it may be but it still had a story to tell.  

At first a lump of cold, dull clay, providing inspiration for a human mind.  Worked and moulded by human hands, its exterior carefully smoothed and decorated.  Then from the hot fire like a phoenix it came.  The incised decorations had meaning, told their own story of the people who made it.  Its beauty admired, given as a gift from an aunt to a niece and filled with grain.  Beautiful and practical, that was its story.  It was valued passing from mother to daughter until a day of violence, rough voices and screaming.  In the aftermath the pot lay broken on the hard-earthen floor, broken into many pieces, its precious contents spilt out.  The crackle and spit of the burning building heralding the end of an era but not the end of the story.

Buried, for what seemed like an eternity.  The only company the ever-present earthworms and the occasional mole. Scratching and burrowing, moving away parts of the whole so that even now safe in the brown box, it was not complete.  Then came the day when the light returned, once more human hands held it, reverently, exclaiming over its beauty.  Carefully washing away the dirt that had accumulated over the centuries, it was drawn, measured and photographed.  Then carefully, oh so carefully, a new home was made for all its broken parts.

At first many hands held it, admired it, there were more drawings and more photographs but gradually the visits into the light became fewer and fewer as the next best thing came along.  It had been a long time since it had felt the warmth of human hands gently caressing the incised decoration that had its own story.  Perhaps today would be the day.  If it had a voice it would have cried out “pick me, pick me” not unlike so many of the other artefacts sitting comfortably in their specially cut foam in their anonymous brown boxes.  Each had story to tell of a time when they were useful and valued, even broken and buried over centuries their stories had not diminished. 

“Pick me, pick me” said the silence.

*****

Standing still at the doorway to the storeroom the woman took a deep breath.  Smiling she wondered where best to start.  Her boss had simply said “choose the ones with the best stories”.  But how do you choose a good story?  What is a good story? With a small satisfied sigh,  she looked at her tablet with its inventory, deciding to simply start with the artefacts that appealed to her personally.  Hoping on some instinctive level she would choose the ones with the ‘best stories.

Although there was a certain amount of pressure to pick the right artefacts this was a job she had been looking forward to for quite some time.  Finally, a legitimate opportunity for a good rummage in one of the museums oldest storerooms and a chance to prove she was good at her job.  A job she loved.  If she were a person of a certain disposition she would have done a little jig, as it was she simply contented herself with humming her favourite tune. 

Running her fingers lightly along the brown boxes she did a slow circuit of the room, soaking up the slightly musty atmosphere.  There was no real order to the space except in a numerical fashion.  Each box numbered according to when it arrived in the room, so that Mesolithic flints sat happily beside early medieval pottery sherds.  She did briefly wonder if there was analogy for the modern world there.  Either way, here she felt at home, to her each and every one of these artefacts had a good story to tell.  Put them together and their story would be…mind blowing?  No, wrong word, it would be…enlightening.  Smiling and humming she went in search of a trolley.

After an hour she had half a dozen boxes on the trolley, so far so good she thought as she sat on the desk at the end of the room. There were a few errant boxes that for reasons known only to themselves had moved to other locations in the room other than their designated spot.  Perseverance had paid off in those cases.  It had been a risk coming here, her choices were risky too.  This was not the only storeroom there were others with brighter, better and more well-known artefacts stored in them, safer choices, but better stories? 

Perusing the inventory, the woman waited for something to jump out at her.  What she needed for this part of the exhibition was an object that grabbed people’s attention, an item to stop and wonder at, what else is hidden away in the bowels of their museum?  Page after page she flicks through, finally at the bottom of the very last page a hastily added note.  The last few boxes to come into the room, containing artefacts from a small, local society training dig.  The enthusiastic amateurs had come across an ancient settlement but a lack of funding had kept the dig to a single trench, two metres wide and five metres long.  Even so, several of the finds had been remarkable, telling a story of settlement in use for many generations and its eventual but violent demise.

Feeling her heart beat quicken the woman began to count boxes searching, hoping that no one had moved them.  The sound of her heels clicking a beat along the rows, up, down, pause, up, down, pause.  Damn!  They weren’t there.  Hands on her hips, frowning, her eyes focussing on the boxes that were not the boxes she was looking for.  Taking a step back she scans around, sometimes they were simply a little bit in the wrong place, but no not this time.   If she were of a particular disposition she would have stamped her foot in frustration not once but twice, instead though she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Logic dictated that she should check who had last looked at the boxes, there might be some indication as to where were now.  Walking back to the desk where she had left the tablet with its inventory she spied a row of four brown boxes sitting innocently on the desk she had only moments before been sitting on.  Her pace quickened, please let it be them she prayed to no one god in particular.  If she were of a particular disposition she would have ran and slid to a halt at the table, but she was not and she still got there in good time.  A quick glance at the numbers on the outside of the box confirmed it, yes it was them. 

As she lifted the lids on each of the boxes, once more she said a silent prayer of thanks.  The contents of all four boxes would be her centrepiece, they told a real story, a story to resonate through the ages.  The woman placed the boxes on the trolley, satisfied.  Her heels once more clicking sedately on the linoleum floor, a creak of the door, snap as the fluorescents flicker off, bang, the door shuts once more on darkness.  The dust motes swirled about in the air eddies left by the woman’s presence.  A comfortable constant silence reigns – until next time.

*****

Slam, went the car door.  Two bodies wrapped up against the weather, one tall, one small make a mad dash for cover under the museum’s portico.  Stopping to catch their breath the small one links hands with the tall one. There were a lot of people milling under the portico and mum had said very clearly, ‘do not lose your dad, after all, he can’t even find his way out of a paper bag’.  The boy wasn’t really sure what his dad would have been doing in a paper bag.  He shrugs to himself, grown-ups!

Rain and school holidays, not a good time to come to the museum but today was his only day off work and he had promised his son that he would bring him.  He had no idea why he actually agreed, he would have much rather chewed off his own leg than come to the museum.  But there was something about the look the boy’s mother had given him and then there was the boy…equal portions of guilt and love tumbled through his consciousness and he found himself agreeing.  She had pulled him aside, “he loves the museum, and it’s soothing…when he is there he almost like any other kid, stay as long as you can”. 

As they walked through the doors, father and son turned and looked at each other.

“Well, you know it best, where to first?”

The boy smiled, twirling around eyes closed, mentally communicating with the museum, where to first?  He stopped, opened his eyes and pointed.  Following the pointed finger, he spies the new exhibition hall and yes as luck would have it there was a new exhibition.  A display of previously unseen objects from the museum’s storerooms, well fair enough at least it wouldn’t be the same old things although he did fear that was yet to come.  There was a tugging at the end of his arm; the boy was itching to go.  His mother was right he did almost seem like any other kid here. 

Kids, no one tells you no matter what you think will happen, no matter how prepared you are, it is nothing like what actually happens.  He had been so excited knowing he was to have a son, he had imagined footy games, cricket on the beach, surfing, building tree houses and boisterous games of tag.  What he had got was an entirely different kettle of fish.  It wasn’t that he didn’t love him his heart had almost burst when he first held him in his arms.  It was just that things had not quite turned out as expected and in the beginning the readjustment had taken awhile, it had taken too long for his wife, the boy’s mother.

The boy tugged again on his dad’s hand, come on, imagine the treasures in here he tried to say.  He looked up at his dad, his lopsided grin bigger than ever.  He loved the museum, he loved the way it smelled, the way it sounded, the way the objects would speak to him, tell him their stories.  He could spend hours with his nose pressed up against the glass cases just staring and imagining.  His mum always told him that no matter what he would always have his imagination, the endless stories he wrote were testimony to that.  She had packed his journal and brand-new pack of pencils in his backpack, “just in case the mood takes you”, she had said with a wink.

As they wandered around the new exhibition they saw stuffed animals in scary poses, shiny beetles and beautiful butterflies pinned very carefully to a board, everything was named (common and Latin), everything creatively displayed.  Each display had an information board with their stories.  Many of the stories were about where the animal had come from, who had found it and the hardships that were undertaken in the name of science.  The boy wasn’t that impressed, again he decided it must be a grown-up thing, killing something in the name of science, it was not a part of the museum he liked much.  But although just a kid he understood that you didn’t need to like everything about something or someone in order to love it – no one was perfect.

He tugged on his dad’s hand again, something was calling him forward.  It was the archaeology section, now this was more like it.  His soul sang for this was his nirvana.  Here artefacts spoke of human lives, told their stories, here he could lose himself totally.  He moved quickly from case to case his dad trailing dutifully behind him.

“Slow down kiddo, we have all the time in the world.”

The boy came to a complete halt in front of a case displaying a beautiful blackened pot, its swirly incised decoration speaking to him.  There were other artefacts, bronze clothes pins, other pieces of pottery, part of an iron skillet and an iron knife blade, both rusted but still identifiable, jet beads lovingly set into a shape of necklace.  The board said that they all came from the same excavation, not far from where the boy lived with his mother.  It was exciting to know that under his feet as he walked around his town there could be more stories waiting to be discovered.  He looked at his dad, who was just smiling at him in a funny kind of way.

“Go on, your mum said she had packed your journal, it’s okay.  I like to watch you write your stories, I’ll just be over here keeping an eye on you.”

The boys grin said it all.

*****

She had drawn the short straw, the volunteer who was rostered on to look after this section answering the public’s questions had called in sick, a migraine or something.  So here she was, she didn’t really mind, she liked to see people interact with the artefacts.  The boy and his father had intrigued her. 

They were in a world of their own, the boy strangely silent.  The father seemed a little uncomfortable, he looked like he’d much rather be out tackling the elements than in here.  The boy had sat down on the floor with his back leaning against the plinth, on his lap was a book and in his hand a pencil, he leaned back eyes closed, obviously deep in thought.  Suddenly as if someone had fired a starting gun his eyes flicked open and the pencil flew across the page.  Her eyes glanced at the father, he was smiling, he had seen this before.  Father and son settled in, one watching the other, just being.

An hour later, the pencil was put away.  She was intrigued, her feet moving of their own volition she walked over to the boy.

“Hello, I’m the curator who put this section together.  Do you like it?”

The boy nodded smiling his lopsided smile.  His dad hurried over “he doesn’t speak but he does understand everything, just doesn’t talk” he shrugged apologetically.

“But you like to write, don’t you?” she asked, not fazed by his father’s explanation.

The boy nodded again, a moment of silence stretched out and then he handed her the journal.  Taking the journal, she moved to the bench the father had previously occupied, sat down and started to read.  Both father and son sat quietly and waited.

When she had finished, she turned to look at the boy, “you have a rare talent, you can see the story behind each artefact, I honestly can say I felt like I was transported back in time.  Thank you.  You are a very clever young man.”  It was a truth, not words to bolster a child’s confidence.

“I would love you to come back another day, so I can show you some of the other artefacts in storerooms and you can write more stories.  Perhaps we can convince the museum to publish some of them.  People need to hear your stories”.

Because the boy was of a particular disposition he did do a jig, his joy obvious to all.  His father felt a lump in his throat and not trusting himself to speak just smiled and nodded his thanks.  She handed over her card and got his details too – she knew a good story when she saw one. 

It’s all about the story, we all have them tucked away inside, sometimes we tell ourselves, sometimes we tell others.  They are in everything and everyone we touch.  Some are short lived and some will resonate through time but in the end, it is our story and how it ends is up to us.

         

Land Use and Settlement in the Upper Waitemata – Part Two

In this the second part of my small study of land use and settlement in the Upper Waitemata we are staying within the area defined in part one – from Island Bay to Kendall’s Bay, keeping within the coastal strip.  This part will take a look at the early colonial/settler history of the area, with the emphasis being on the early or pre-WWII.  After this point in time there is plenty of written records and several good books written on the history of Birkenhead and I have no desire to rehash already well-known information.

In 1769 Captain James Cook sailed through the Hauraki Gulf past Waiheke Island and made a note that there might be sheltered harbours to the west.  The only other Europeans around at the end of the eighteenth century were whalers and as of yet no records have been found of any exploration into the upper Waitemata.  It appears that it is not until 1820 that Europeans began to show an interest in this sheltered inland harbour. 

Reverend Samuel Marsden is often credited with being the first to explore the area, in his diaries he states that he left the HMS Coromandel at Waiheke and was guided by Te Morenga to Riverhead where he then travelled overland to the Kaipara River – a route travelled by Maori for centuries.

During the next twenty years there were undoubtedly forays by other Europeans into the Waitemata, perhaps looking for timber and other such opportunities however their stories are as yet unknown.  In 1840 the HMS Herald was the next major ship to visit the Waitemata, onboard was the Lieutenant Governor of NZ Hobson and the Surveyor General Felton Matthew.  They spent the next two weeks exploring the harbour – Herald Island is named after the ship and of course Hobsonville after the Governor who had initially favoured the place as the capital of New Zealand.

Slightly further afield from our area of study there are records from around this time which make a note of sailors rowing up Hellyers Creek to a place called The Lagoon to restock their freshwater supplies, however, “it has also been recorded that in 1841 a Mr Hellyer, lived on the bank of the creek which now bears his name.  He brewed beer which no doubt was a great incentive to those earlier seamen who rowed up the harbour…”

An early but seriously water worn pipe end found on the beach at Kendall’s Bay – it is easy to imagine the early sailor who dropped their pipe overboard as they sailed up the Waitemata.

In 1841 our area of study was part of a large land purchase called the Mahurangi Block, it extended from Takapuna/Devonport to Te Arai and encompassed the majority of the present-day North Shore. The first parcels of land to be auctioned in 1844 were between Northcote and Lake Pupuke. Much of the early purchases in the Birkenhead area were part of a land speculation trend without the land being settled or farmed.  Significant chunks of land sold were the area from Rangitira Rd/Beach Rd to Soldiers Bay which was sold to William Brown in 1845 and the area from Balmain and Domain Rds to the shore encompassing one hundred and ten acres being sold to a James Woolly also in 1845.  However, it does not seem that either of them actually lived here.  It was common practice for land to bought speculatively and sold on in smaller parcels to settlers fresh off the boat so to speak, such as the ‘Tramway Company’ a land development company who bought large tracts of land in what is now Birkenhead.

The earliest settlers of the Birkenhead area who are known were Henry Hawkins, Hugh McCrum, John Creamer, Joseph Hill, James Fitzpatrick and William Bradney.  All of whom appeared to have had a go at farming but little else is known about them.

Unfortunately, those early settlers who chose the Birkenhead area were in for a hard time, as mentioned in part one the soil was not conducive to farming in the traditional sense.  Settlement was a rather slow process particularly when compared to other parts of the North Shore and Auckland.  Not surprising when faced with the prospect of clearing the bush before they could even build themselves a dwelling.  Many of the early dwellings were simple one room nikau whares, constructed of sod walls with a raupo or nikau thatched roof.  As they cleared the bush often deposits of kauri gum would be found and sold ensuring a source of income. 

A reconstructed nikau/ raupo whare at Howick Historical Village – a living history museum in east Auckland.
Lumps of kauri gum found at Kendall’s Bay.

Even though most of these early farmers only managed a subsistence living, there were the occasional success story.  Birkenhead became quite well known for its fruit orchards, the first of which was established by Henry Hawkins.  There are two differing accounts as to where Hawkins had his orchard, some maintain it was near Soldiers Bay and others say it was on the ridge where Birkenhead Ave now runs.  It is of course possible that both are correct, one of the earliest estates to be subdivided and sold was the Balmain Estate (also known as the Balmain Township) which extended over a much wider area than just the Balmain Rd of today.  The steep sided valley of Soldiers Bay would appear to not be conducive to a fruit orchard, the thick kauri groves would have been quite a hindrance to say the least.  However, an advertisement in the local paper for 1855 has H J Hawkins selling 700 fruit trees from his farm at The Glen, Soldiers Bay. Later in 1870-71 Hawkins is recorded as owning allotment two and three in Birkenhead – this is situated on the ridge which is now Birkenhead Ave. 

Another early settler is mentioned in relation to a dwelling on a map dated to 1849, the house was owned by a John Crisp and was situated close to what is now Fitzpatrick Bay. Unfortunately, I have been unable to corroborate this.

According to a local history study of Island Bay and surroundings (Island Bay. A Brief History) there is an 1844 map which shows a dwelling occupied by a Mr George Skey. The bottom part of the block was developed into a small farm and sold as a going concern around 1849.  It had its own jetty and a farm boundary ditch, unfortunately I have been unable to track down this map to verify this information and the area where the farm is said to be (and relatively well preserved) is part of the Muriel Fisher Reserve which is currently closed due to kauri dieback.  Having said that, it is definitely something to consider and requires further investigation. 

Soldiers Bay at low tide – the tree covered area to the left is part of the Muriel Fisher Reserve and the probable site of allotment 148.

Whilst the 1880-81 electoral roll lists a small block (allotment 148 – a trapezoidal block which ran from what is now Rangitira Rd to the western edge of Soldiers Bay) of twenty-three acres owned by a Mr Clement Partridge who is described as a settler.  The area of Island Bay was one of those places where early land sales were of the speculative kind.  It wasn’t until the “Tramway Company”, a land development company, bought large tracts of land in the Birkenhead area including Island Bay, that small dwellings began to appear. Like many of the bays in the area, Island Bay was a summer place with the majority of dwellings being bach’s and only a handful were occupied all year round.  The road began as a dirt track mostly used by gumdiggers and was previously known as Victoria Rd West prior to 1913.

What’s in a Name?

Placenames often hold clues as to the early settlement of an area and its changing history.  In part one we already looked at some of the Maori names for places and how they relate to not only how the landscape was used but also how the people saw themselves within their world.  For Europeans the naming of places can be a lot more prosaic and, in some cases, the reason for the name is obvious such as Island Bay, so named for the small island at the end of the road which was once separated from the mainland and only accessed at low tide via stepping stones. 

The island after which Island Bay is so named…

Others, however, are much more difficult to ascertain – Kendall Bay is obviously a European name but at this point in time there are no records of anyone with the name of Kendall after whom the bay was so named.  One possibility is that Kendall may be the name of gumdigger or gum buyer situated at the bay – gumdigger camps were often situated at the head of sheltered gullies near fresh water and near to the coast.  Kendall Bay satisfies all of these requirements.  Interestingly, the bay is also known locally as Shark Bay, undoubtedly because of the shark fishing grounds exploited by Maori and later Europeans.

Kendall’s Bay or Shark Bay on a foggy morning.

Interestingly, Kauri Point is the one placename not to change and to be consistently included in the majority of maps dating back to 1842 and up to the present day.  It would be a fair guess to say the name came about as a result of the large kauri stands which would have been easily visible to the first people to sail up the harbour.

Names have also changed through time or have been forgotten.  The Upper Waitemata was once called Sandy Bay on a nautical chart from 1841; another early map refers to Pt Shortland (1842), the headland where the Naval Base currently is; on other maps the bay we know today as Onetaunga Bay was once called Quarryman’s Bay.  

Quarryman’s Bay, like Brick Bay further up the harbour, refer to the early industrial endeavours of the area’s inhabitants.  Both quarrying and brickmaking were popular industries in a land where traditional farming was problematic.  One of the occupations of a potential early settler in the area was brickmaker (see below).

Just a few of the many bricks found on the beach at Fitzpatrick’s Bay – possibly either as a result of a small brick making industry or as a result of the demolition of the house on the hill which may have had a brick chimney.

Soldiers Bay is an interesting case of a name that has been around for a long time but its origins are hazy.  The earliest mention that I have been able to track down is dated to a map of 1863.  Today the stream that runs down from the high ground and empties into Soldiers Bay would have been a lot less silted up and most likely navigable by waka or rowboat as far as the present-day carpark.  Today there is a causeway which joins the bottom of Balmain Rd to the reserve which would not have been there in the early days.  This causeway was most likely constructed in the early twentieth century when a caretakes lived at the end of the reserve above Fitzpatrick’s Bay.

The modern causeway which now links Kauri Point Domain to the bottom of Balmain Rd – there are oral histories which tell of access to the beaches being further up the valley.

None of which gives us any clue as to why Soldier’s Bay is so named…it has been suggested that the bay gained its name as a result of an encampment of militia during the unsettled times of the mid-1800s.  At the time, Hone Heke was ‘making life unpleasant’ for settlers in the north, particularly the Hokianga, and many had moved south to take up land in Birkenhead.  To allay the fears of the settlers a contingent of soldiers may have been positioned in various places…hence Soldiers Bay.  As mentioned before the stream would have been navigable to the bottom of present-day Balmain Rd, just before that though there is a flat spur which would have provided a good position for an encampment, with a clear view of the harbour and a fresh water supply.

The final placename to consider is that of Fitzpatrick’s Bay, this small sandy bay is today part of the Kauri Point Domain and is a popular recreational reserve for the local area.  There are two possible people responsible for naming of the Bay – Charles Fitzpatrick or James Fitzpatrick. 

An examination of Jury Lists and Electoral Rolls shows that a James Fitzpatrick arrived on the Jane Gifford in 1842 with his wife and daughter.  The Jury List of 1842-57 lists James as living on the North Shore as a brickmaker; in the 1850s and 1860s he was still living on the North Shore but was now a farmer and a freeholder.  Whether or not he was actually living in the Birkenhead area is difficult to say; Birkenhead itself was not so named until 1863 and up until that point there was very little distinction between areas.  In the 1870-71 electoral roll James was listed as residing in Takapuna, allotment 15 – a survey of the cadastral maps of 1868 shows that allotment 15 is in fact in Northcote (Takapuna refers to Takapuna Parish of which included todays Takapuna, Birkenhead, Northcote, Hillcrest, Birkdale, Beachhaven and so on).  In 1890, James was still in the Takapuna Parish but was now listed as a gumdigger.

Photo of gumdiggers outside a raupo whare on the Manukau Pennisula ca 1891 (from Auckland Libaries heritage Collections 07064)

Charles Fitzpatrick only appears twice in the lists; first in 1867 and as having a freehold land and house at Kauri Point however by 1890 he had moved to Morrinsville.  Whilst only Charles is listed specifically as living in our area of study and he would appear to be the best option for the naming of Fitzpatrick Bay it is still not possible to rule out James. 

Fun in the Sun

The study area today is made up of three different zones – residential (Island Bay), defence (Onetaunga Bay) and recreational (Fitzpatrick Bay, Soldiers Bay and Kendall Bay).  In 1888 Governor William Jervois permanently reserved for the purpose of recreation 133 acres of land (allotment 162 and 163) in the Parish of Takapuna.  It had been his hope that the area was turned into a national park, a place of tranquillity for Aucklanders. This was the area from Kendall Bay to the eastern end of Fitzpatrick Bay.  In 1913 the Harbour Board acquired a further forty-two acres which included Kauri Point (allotment 164) which had previously been owned by Sir John Logan Campbell until his death in 1912.  Further to this the area around Fitzpatrick and Soldiers Bay were then added to the park in 1916.  An article in the New Zeland Herald in 1916 stated that the reserve had a fine waterfront and had in the past had been much used as a camping and picnic ground.  It also mentions a ‘good five roomed house’, our first mention of what was to be known as the caretakers’ house.

Photo of the proposed plan for a park at Kauri Point dated to 1913.

 An article from 1900 also in the New Zealand Herald also mentions how the Kauri Point Domain board had agreed to allow campers for a small fee.  Interestingly they also denied a request for funds for a wharf.  Reading through multiple articles the request for a wharf in the area is one which is constantly brought up, eventually a wharf was constructed but not at Fitzpatrick’s or Soldiers Bay but at Onetaunga Bay and it was paid for and built without the help of the board or their funds.

The grassy area at Fitzpatrick’s used by campers since the 1900s if not earlier.

This marked a new era for this inner harbour landscape; each of the small bays were transformed in the summer months as families from the city side would spend the warmer days living under canvas. In the 1920s and 1930s there were seven or eight families holidaying at Kendall Bay, their camp was at the western end of the bay where there is a level space and a freshwater stream.  At Fitzpatrick’s the camp site was at the northern end of the bay on the grassy area above the beach.  Unlike elsewhere this part of the reserve was owned by the Birkenhead Borough Council from 1929 who improved it and put in place a caretaker. 

The only recorded caretaker was a William Henry Rickwood who lived in small house with his family on the hill above Fitzpatricks.  Oral histories record how Williams’ wife would keep a small store selling sweets, soft drinks and other useful supplies.  There was also a ‘ponga-house’ where Mrs Rickwood would provide hot water and often sold tea and scones to the visitors.  There is very little that remains of this house today, just a level area with an overgrown collection of European garden plants such as figs and a rambling rose.  However, there is evidence of both the campers and the caretakers in form of the rubbish they were throwing away.  Often along the bay sherds of old ceramics dating from the late 1800s to the mid-1930s can be found, undoubtedly there is a European midden that has eroded onto the beach. 

As well as the tent sites at Kendall Bay, there were other camping places, near the wharf at Onetaunga Bay and at Fitzpatricks bay which is the beach at the present Kauri Point Domain.  Pre-World War Two and back through the Depression years, tents appeared each summer for a back-to-nature holiday by bush and sea.  Much of the housework was left behind at home and there was no problem keeping the children amused. There were good sandy beaches and the harbour water was clear and clean in those days before the march of suburbia. (From a pamphlet of remembrances celebrating twenty years of Kauri Point Centennial Park, available in the Birkenhead Library).

Island Bay whilst listed as residential today was up until the construction of the Harbour Bridge mainly a summer town, full of bachs occupied only in the summer by families from across the water in the city. Unlike the other bays the land around Island Bay was owned by a land development company, being subsequently subdivided and sold off.  However, because of issues of transport and roads only a few of the blocks were permanently occupied.  Newspapers from the early 1900s often have articles describing summer outings by the Ponsonby Yacht Club to Soldiers Bay and area. 

Defence

A final chapter in the history of land use in our area is that of defence.  Just prior to the Second World War in 1935 ninety acres of the Kauri Point Domain was taken for defence purposes.  The area of Onetaunga Bay (once Quarryman’s Bay) was developed for a storage facility for naval armaments.  This unfortunately put paid to those carefree summer campers who no longer came in the large numbers, the caretaker at Fitzpatrick’s was still Mr Rickwood in 1938, as listed in the Wises Directory, but with the outbreak of WWII everything changed.

In 1942 the Americans had arrived in response to the Japanese threat in the South Pacific. Kauri Point Domain, Fitzpatrick’s bay included, were given over to the Americans and a large number of powder magazines were built.  There are several unusual features on the beach at Fitzpatrick’s Bay, which may relate to these days.

After the war the Domain reverted to being parkland but never again were campers allowed back to any of the bays.  Today the Naval depot forms a large wedge between Kauri Point Domain and Kauri Point Centennial Park.

The wedge of buildings and land is the naval depot – Kauri Point Domain is to the top and Kauri Point Centennial Park the dark area to bottom and along.

Sources

McClure M (1987) ‘The Story of Birkenhead’

Auckland Libraries Heritage Collections

‘Island Bay – A Brief History’ – unknown author.

‘Birkenhead The Kauri Suburb’

Papers Past – New Zealand

Electoral Rolls – Ancestry.com

‘Kauri Point Centennial Park Management Plan’ Birkenhead City Council 1989.

‘North Shore Heritage. A Thematic Review Report’ Auckland City Council 2011.

Two Days in napier

Just recently the husband and I had a child free weekend away, during this time we spend two days exploring the town of Napier in the Hawkes Bay.  Naturally I was drawn to the town’s heritage and as per usual my first stop was to the local museum – MTG Hawkes Bay.

The exterior of the museum.

Situated in the main part of town near the seafront, it is attached to the library and spread over three floors.  The ground floor gallery is taken up by two exhibitions – Tenei Tonu and Turuturu, Fingers, Feathers and Fibre. Tenei Tonu showcased the taonga, both historic and contemporary, alongside the stories of the local Iwi Ngati Kahunguru. Turuturu took up a space which joined the museum to the library and is a fascinating albeit brief look at the importance of weaving in Maori culture.

Turuturu are weaving pegs used to keep a garment off the ground when it is being made. The main peg is the right one and can be elaborately decorated. It represents the mana of Te Whare Pora – the knowledge-bank of the art-form. The peg itself upholds the mana of the growing garment and it spiritually connects the maker to the world of thought and concentration. The peg also grounds the maker so they do not get lost in their intellectual world. (quoted from the MTG Hawkes Bay website)

On the second floor was three collections – one of an amazing display of heirloom silverware whilst the second was called Five Pakeha Painters – Perspectives on the Hawkes Bay.  This small exhibition of artwork acknowledged the importance of art as a form of dialogue between the artist, the land and the social norms of the time.  The third exhibition was titled The House of Webb – A Victorian Family’s Journey to Ormondsville.  This is a temporary exhibition (it finishes on the 3rd November) showcasing life in Victorian Napier through the belongings, diaries and letters of the Webb Family.  In 1884 the Webb family left their comfortable life in England and travelled to Napier and then further south to Ormondsville, this exhibition showed what life was like for these early settlers, some of their trials and how they survived those early days. 

The final gallery to be explored was in the basement of the museum – here the visitor is taken through that fateful day in 1931 when the Hawkes Bay was hit by a massive earthquake which destroyed almost all of Napier and killed over three hundred people.

At 10:47am on 3 February 1931, a devastating earthquake struck Hawke’s Bay. In that moment it seemed the end of the world had come. People were thrown off their feet; buildings shuddered and collapsed as the ground pitched violently. In central Napier, fires broke out within minutes and rushed through the city. Amidst the burning, falling buildings, the bright blue sky of a summer’s day was obscured by smoke and dust. People could only watch as their home was destroyed around them. In desperation the injured screamed for help, others ran for the safety of the beach, or home to find their families. (Quoted from the MTG Hawkes Bay website)

As well as the thoughtful display of objects and stories, there is also a short film of ‘Survivor Stories’ which brings home how devasting the earthquake was to the people of the Hawkes Bay.  Time here will forever be divided between ‘before and after the earthquake’.

The second place to be visited was the Napier Prison…yes on purpose…and no not in shackles…

Napier Prison is New Zealand’s oldest prison, it was first opened in 1852 and was closed to inmates in 1993.  Situated on Bluff Hill and next to the quarry where early inmates were expected to do hard labour extracting the stone that would build walls which now surround the prison.  In 2002 the prison was restored to the state it is in by a local family who turned it into a back-packers (not my first choice of accommodation) but nowadays it is a tourist attraction and even on the cold wet day we visited there were a quite a few visitors.

The forbidding entrance of Napier Prison – visitors must knock…

As a visitor you can either go on a guided tour or do the self-guided audio tour which we did.  The facilities also host scare tours in the evenings and has an Escape Room Experience for those wanting something a bit different.  On two separate occasions and for quite different reasons, the prison has been the focus of a TV show – one looking to enhance the visitor experience from a heritage perspective and the other capitalising on the prison’s spookier stories. The prison has also through its time been used as a psychiatric unit, a lighthouse and a meeting place for Alcoholic Anonymous groups.

Above is a block called ‘The Pound’ – the padded cells and caged exercise area chilling reminders that once upon a time mental illness was treated with a lot less compassion.

Beside The Pound is ‘The Hole’ – use your imagination…

The above photos show a small selection of numerous information boards that provide a light moment amongst the many somber ones.

The above photos are of the main block and exercise yard, the bottom picture is of a well discovered a short while ago. The well room is in what was once the infirmary before being divided into other rooms during the prisons back packing days.

Above is a plaque about one of the prison’s most well known executioners. – the role of executioner would often fall to one of the inmates and Tom Long was no exception.

On a personal note, it was a fascinating place, however the sense of relief when I walked back out the front gates was immense. The heavy sense of foreboding made for an uncomfortable visit, there were places I simply could not enter.  I took no photos of the ‘hanging yard’ or the graveyard (where only three burials are had), the feelings of deep sadness were enough to stop me pressing the shutter. The ‘hanging yard’ in particular had an effect on me…but having said that I am glad I went, it was educational and an eye-opener to life behind bars in New Zealand’s oldest prison.

The remaining photos are just a few from around a city well known for its art deco architecture and seafront gardens.

The view of Napier Port from the lookout on Bluff Hill.

Please note that all photos are my own – the MTG Hawkes Bay do not allow photography in many of their galleries, hence the paucity of photos from this lovely museum.