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Transcript of Hugh’s 1950s radio talks, # 1
The heyday of the Kauri bushmen ended in about 1914. Before that time large camps, some more permanent than others, were operating in the bush throughout Northland, and it is about the men in these camps that I’m going to talk to you. About the way in which they lived, the work they did, and how they did it.
The Kauri tree today has become almost an emblem. It represents the New Zealand bush at its finest. The cutting down of Kauri trees is now greatly controlled, but in those early days the Kauri was just timber—very good timber.
All the same trees that are today regarded as good timber—the Totara, Puriri, Kahikatea and Matai—were just humbug to the old Kauri bushman, having no market value whatsoever. The Kauri only was timber to him.
Now, what happened when it was decided that a stand of Kauri was to be felled, pulled out of the bush, and sent off to market—usually overseas markets? Well, in the first place, the men had to have somewhere to live, and that meant the building of the shanty.
Now, the shanty would be set up as handy as possible to the work. It also had to be handy to a good water supply. As a rule the shanty had to house somewhere between 12 and 20 men in one building. Usually, the building was made of split palings—these for the walls—and a shingle roof. I speak of the more permanent buildings. Temporary ones were often simply made with Nikau palm fronds.
I mentioned that there was no corrugated iron in those days. It probably wouldn’t have made much difference if there had been, because of transport difficulties. It was better, as a rule, to do things on the spot, rather than having to cart heavy materials into the heart of the bush. Not that it couldn’t have been done, as I will tell you later, but it was more convenient to do whatever could be done on the spot. That is what happened in the building of the shanty.
Palings were split on the spot twhere the shanty would be built. I wonder how many people today would take a log, split it into palings, and do anything up to 1,000 palings in a day or several thousand shingles. I know of women who could split several thousand shingles in a day.
Now, how did they do it? Usually, the Kauri was cut to about 4 to 6 feet in length, as required for palings. After that, it was quartered, giving you four pieces from two splits right through the center. These were each split in half again, giving you eight pieces 6 feet long, wedge-shaped in section.
Now, on the narrow side of this wedge, there is the inner heartwood, called the core. This is split off. The remainder of the piece was split once more radially, and each split again in the direction of the yearly rings—that is, at right angles to the center axis of the tree. Now we have 32 pieces known as billets, and from these, the palings were split. To do this, a large knife was driven into one end of the billet, and palings, about half an inch in thickness, were sliced off from what we call the back of the billet—that is, at right angles to the center of the tree. As I have said, a man could split up to 1,000 palings per day.
When the palings and the shingles were split, the framework was erected for the shanty, about 25’ x 18’. The framework was made of straight saplings. At one end of the building was a chimney, which extended the full width of the shanty. There was a reason for this design. Down the centre, there would be a long table with benches on either side. Along both sides and across the back, there was a double row of bunks.
Now, why put the chimney right across the building? Well, in the first place, the fire took up six or seven feet, built as it was in front of a large backlog. This was a heavy log drawn in through a trap door. This back log at once held the fire in position, as the back of a grate would and, at the same time, burned away slowly, providing continuous heat.
Now, the other reason the chimney extended the full width of the building was that there was drying space on either side of the fire for wet clothing and so on. This was most important because Kauri bushmen worked in all weather, fair or foul, and were often wet all the time, especially in the swampier parts.
The cook, of course, had to have a bench of his own. This was usually set near the fireplace but to one side of it. Then he would have, as well, a large block, usually placed at the head of the table, and on this block he would cut up the beef, which was delivered in bulk. The bushmen preferred beef, which was usually brought in quarters. They didn’t think they could get the same work out of mutton, which doesn’t seem to be so important to us today because we don’t work as hard anyway.
You remember that the tools we used to build with were the axe, the saw and the hammer. The stock-in-trade of the cook was equally simple. He had a rack for dishes, several camp ovens, several iron boilers, large pots, some large bowls, and a large dish. Those of you who know the old milk pan will have seen this sort of thing. This was used for kneading the dough for breadmaking. Then, of course, there was the washing up dish. The dishes on the table were tin plates, later enamel plates, and knife, fork, and spoon. In the early days, a tin cup, which later became the enamel mug.
The camp oven was round, rather like a very wide, shallow pot. It had three legs underneath, about 3 inches long. The pot portion itself was about 6 inches deep, and on top of that, there was a flattish lid lipped around the edge. There were also two lugs to which a wire handle could be attached. The pot could either be set directly in the fire, with embers set on the lid as well, and held there by the lipped edge, or it could be hung above the fire. My mouth still waters as I remember the beautiful bread that came out of those camp ovens, and I know I am not alone in this.
Now, just a word about the cook. He was a martinet in his way, and quite a lot depended on him. Regarding the harmony in the camp. His hours were long, always from before daylight until after dark at night, and it was amazing just how cheerful a good cook could be under adverse circumstances. The fare was always plain: roast beef, boiled beef, corned beef, potatoes, carrots, pumpkin, onions. Plum pudding—usually called duff—boiled rice or sago were the principal pudding items.
The cook’s method of calling the men was a blast on a horn. This was at knock-off time or meals. The horn was an ordinary long horn off a bullock, with the tip cut off and a hole bored through to the natural hollow of the horn. The operator just blew into it, making a very loud and penetrating sound, which at 6 o’clock in the evening was really music to the tired bushman.
There were a lot of old identities who did great service in the bush, such as Peter Irwin, Joe Sykes, and Jimmy Martin. Jimmy Martin was not only a good cook, he was a pugilist, and he never had any trouble—they would eat out of his hand. Peter Irwin was a character. He had a lot of cats, well-trained, and when he was cutting up the meat, they all sat quietly while he put each cat’s ration down and then carried each cat by the tail and put it down in front of its own piece of meat.
I have told you about the food arrangements and shelter, but what about the rest? I mean sleep. How did we sleep? You remember there were two rows of bunks around three sides of the shanty, and in these bunks were mattresses—very springy mattresses—made from, not flock or down or sponge rubber, but made from dried Mungi Mungi. Mungi Mungi is a creeper found in the bush in Northland, and a sack covered with Mungi Mungi made the most satisfactory mattress for a tired man. It was marvelous how it retained its spring; there were never any complaints about the mattresses.
So, we’ve got the camp. The camp has to be supplied, and having no helicopters, we used horses, pack horses, strings of them. The pack horses travelled by bush track. It’s amazing to reflect on what has been carried through the bush in Northland by means of pack horses, not only because of the endurance of the horse and the men concerned, but more especially the art of the man who handled the horse. I say the art of the man. I am talking about the arrangement of the load on the pack horse when I say that. I have seen packhorses with 100 pounds of flour on one side and 70 pounds of sugar on the other, with the load perfectly balanced—that is a simple illustration. Some of the more spectacular examples of what horses could do I found outside the bush work. For example, pioneering farmers have been known to pack ploughs into their farms on horses. Until quite recently, it was common practice in Northland for cream to be picked up at pick-up points, heavy fencing material, posts, coils of barbed and plain wire. A good load would be about 200 pounds, which was normally packed in two side loads and a top load, all held in place by a surcingle.
I remember when I was first married, the grocer’s cart came on its weekly trip and left our goods approximately four miles from our place. My wife and I went on horseback to collect them, and we found, in addition to the usual weekly grocery order, a 40-pound case of fruit and a set of double wash tubs. I don’t quite know how I did it, but with my wife’s assistance, I got the wash tubs in front of me on the horse and the case of fruit inside the tubs, and my wife followed me with the groceries. Off we went, and on the way home, thanks to the skill of the horses and my own desperation, we brought the load home. I’m sure that many of the old bushmen and pioneering farmers could tell similar stories.
I have slipped away a little from the question of getting supplies to the bush camp, but that has only been to illustrate, out of my own experience, how in those days patience, initiative, skill, and endurance were very much a part of the everyday stock of our primitive but happy life.
In this talk, I have dealt with shanties, the horses, and the men who kept the bush camp going with supplies. In my next talk, I will deal with the bushmen themselves.