Benjamin Rudd, a deferred payment settler at Flagstaff, was charged to-day with attempted murder. A man named Waldie and another were riding past accused's place and saluted him as "Uncle Ben." He threw stones at them, and then rushed away for his gun which he fired, wounding Waldie in the neck with a bullet. -Fielding Star, 9/1/1886.
UNLAWFULLY WOUNDING.
Benjamin Rudd pleaded Guilty to an indictment charging him with having on the 8th January fired a gun at John Waldie with intent to inflict grievous bodily harm.
Mr J. Macgregor defended the prisoner.
The Crown Prosecutor, in opening the case, said that Waldie, the prosecutor, was a farmer living at the Half-way Bush, and was also a slaughterman. The prisoner lived somewhere in the neighbourhood of Flagstaff. On the day mentioned in the indictment the prosecutor and one Alfred Jones were riding together along the road towards Flagstaff. They saw the prisoner at work at a stonewall alongside the road, and as they passed him the prosecutor said to him "Go it, Uncle Ben; you are working hard." Immediately he said this the prisoner took up a stone and threw it at Waldie, who turned back and asked him for an explanation. Prisoner then rushed towards his gun, picked it up, and aimed it at Waldie. Portion of the shot struck him — some in the hand, some went through his clothes into his pocket, but the principal portion struck the horse on its hindquarters. Waldie and Jones then turned back and spoke to the prisoner, but as they saw he was in the act of again loading his gun they rode off and gave information to the police. Prisoner, on being interrogated by Constable McLaughlin, denied all knowledge of the matter — denied having shot at Waldie or having fired off a gun. Subsequently, however, he admitted having fired the shot, but said it did not strike Waldie, as he was a long distance off at the time, and gave as his reason for discharging the weapon that Waldie had insulted him. Waldie would give evidence that he only knew the prisoner by the name of "Uncle Ben," and that his observation was intended to be of a friendly nature. After evidence for the prosecution had been given in the Police Court, the prisoner said: "Mr Waldie has insulted me times and times. I have been knocked down by his bullocks." That was the only excuse he had to offer for his conduct.
John Waldie and Constable McLaughlin gave evidence for the prosecution.
Robert Chisholm, called by the accused's counsel, said he had found the prisoner an honest, industrious, and inoffensive man.
William J. Crofts (manager for Butler Bros.), Robert Miller, John Hornby, and Robert Ritchie also gave evidence respecting the character of the accused, who, in their opinion, was a very quiet and respectable man.
Mr McGregor, in addressing the jury, remarked that the gist of the charge was the intention to do bodily harm, and it would be for the jury to say whether they were forced to the conclusion that Rudd had any intention to injure the prosecutor. The defence was that Rudd picked up the gun in order to frighten away the boys who were teasing him, and that when they were so far away that he believed there was no chance of hitting them he fired in their direction. All the circumstances of the case must lead the jury to infer that the shot was not fired with intent to do bodily harm.
The Jury retired for a few minutes, and then returned a verdict of "Not guilty." The accused was then discharged. -Otago Witness, 17/4/1886.
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| Ben's first home, on the city side of Flagstaff |
CITY POLICE COURT,
Friday, April, 5.
(Before Messrs J. Logan and D. Wishart, J.P's
DRUNKENNESS. — One person was dealt with for this offence.
Assault. — Benjamin Rudd was charged with assaulting Susan Hornsby at Flagstaff on the 31st of March. — Mr Meatyard appeared for the complainant, and Mr J. Macgregor for the defendant. — The complainant stated that on the date referred to in the information she and her sister were walking through an unfenced piece of land at Flagstaff, when the defendant came up to them and told them to go off his property. Complainant said that she did not know it was his property, and the defendant then hit her with his closed fist on the side of the head, and subsequently caught hold of her by the hair, kicked her on the back, and said he would pull her d— wig off. — This evidence was corroborated by the plaintiff's sister, Mary Hornsby, and evidence was also given for the prosecution by complainant's father and mother. — The defendant denied assaulting the complainant, and stated that he simply told the two girls to get off his property, and waved them away with his hand. — After the bench had retired to consider their decision, Mr Logan said: The defendant is convicted, and we think it rather a serious offence to attack these two girls in the way he did. There is plenty of evidence to show that. He will be fined £4; 10s 6d professional fee; and 11s court fees; and £1 of the fine is to go to the complainant. — The defendant said he had no money and could not pay the fine, and Mr Logan intimated that the alternative would be one month's imprisonment with hard labour, and that defendant would be allowed till Tuesday to, pay the money. -Otago Daily Times, 6/4/1889.
THE COURTS. — YESTERDAY.
MAGISTRATE'S COURT.
Edward George Turnbull Thomas v. Benjamin Rudd (Wakari). — The plaintiff in his particulars of demand set forth that on the 29th of April, at Wakari, the defendant did unlawfully assault him, and in consequence thereof he sustained great bodily pain, incurred expense by surgical assistance, and was prevented from attending to his business. He therefore claimed £30 as loss and damages. Mr Stilling appeared for the plaintiff, and Mr Solomon for the defendant. — Mr Stilling said the facts of the case were as follow: The plaintiff was a wool merchant, residing in Dunedin, and the defendant a small settler in the Wakari district. On the last Sunday in April the plaintiff and some friends started to walk to Mount Flagstaff by the Halfway Bush road. They reached Flagstaff, and, after staying there a short time, commenced their homeward journey. Some of the party were walking on in front, while the plaintiff was in the rear. Those in advance were aware that defendant objected to persons trespassing on his property, and, after they discussed the matter, they came to the conclusion that they were not on defendant’s property. However, a few minutes afterwards they saw defendant in the distance calling out to them and waving his arms. After procuring a hay-fork he rushed towards them and said that they had been trespassing on his ground. He demanded their names and behaved very violently, and said that if they did not give him their names he would follow them to town. The plaintiff, who was behind, just arrived on the scene, and, hearing the latter remark and not knowing what fully occurred, said “Come on, old man,” and then commenced to walk. He started to go past defendant, who immediately lifted up his hay-fork and struck plaintiff on the right temple, and felled him to the earth. He also struck one of the party on the chin. The plaintiff had to be helped home, and was unable to work for some time afterwards. — Dr Davies said he attended the plaintiff, whose skull was fractured, the blow being a most serious one. — After further evidence, judgment was given for the plaintiff for £22 and costs (£7 5s). -Evening Star, 23/6/1894.
THE COURTS TODAY
THE POLICE COURT
Assault. — David Daniel, John Dryden, Robert Dryden, and Henry Hills were charged with having assaulted Benjamin. Rudd, of Flagstaff Hill, Mr Hanlon prosecuted and Mr A. S. Adams appeared for the defence. The evidence of the prosecutor was to the effect that on Jubilee Day the accused came on his property for the purpose of shooting rabbits, and on being requested to leave they committed the alleged assault by overpowering him and striking him in the face. The boys also pointed their guns at the prosecutor, and in the scuffle one of the stocks was broken. — The defence was that Rudd was the real aggressor, and all the punishment administered to him by the accused was in self-defence and the result of his own violent conduct — After hearing the evidence of some of the accused the Bench intimated that they were satisfied that the assault had been provoked by the conduct of the prosecutor, and dismissed the case. -Evening Star, 5/4/1898.
THE FLAGSTAFF ASSAULT CASE, TO THE EDITOR.
Sir,— Happening to be in the Police Court on the morning of the 5th inst., I was greatly surprised at the magistrate's decision in a case which came before him. Four youths were charged with assaulting one Benjamin Rudd, a settler on Flagstaff. The charge was fully proved and the offenders were discharged without so much aa a caution, and they left the court undoubtedly under the impression that they had performed a meritorious action. It was sought to damage Rudd's character by raking up little incidents, in his career which have happened at former times, saying he was a terror to the neighbourhood, &c. Rudd is a hard-working, industrious settler, and as honest a man as ever drew the breath of life. He is of a somewhat excitable temperament, but when he is on his own place and not tormented by trespassers he is of a kindly and peaceable disposition. He is a man who will trespass on no living soul, and he expects others to do the same by him. The worthy magistrate who sat on this case may think it a very trifling offence to trespass on a man's property and give him a beating, but I warrant he would think differently it he were the sufferer. We settlers think it a very serious offence indeed and one that should be severely punished, and we also think that the mean and cowardly persecution to which Rudd has been subjected for many years should now cease. I do not wish to trespass too much on your space, though very much more might be said on this subject. I merely wish to draw public attention to the manner in which crime and contempt of the law may be fostered by those whose duty it is to rigorously suppress it. Hoping you will see your way to insert this in your valuable publication,— I am, &c.
One of the Many Who Sympathise with Rudd in his persecution.
April 11. -Otago Daily Times, 12/4/1898.
BRIEF MENTION
A mean thief! A few days since the dwelling-house on the farm of Mr Benjamin Rudd, at Flagstaff, was broken into during his absence by some person unknown, who stole what tea and sugar there was, and also a knife and other things. The police have been informed of the matter, but up to the present time have been unable to discover the perpetrator of the robbery. There were taken from the same farm a short time back two sheep, which had been placed in a paddock only three or four days before they were stolen. -Evening Star, 24/4/1898.
FLAGSTAFF TRESPASSERS.
LOOKING FOR TROUBLE.
After we went to press yesterday the charge brought by John George Green that he was assaulted on February 5 at Flagstaff by Benjamin Budd was heard at the City Police Court, before Mr K. H. Carew, S.M. Mr Solomon appeared for the prosecution, and Mr Emslie for defendant, who pleaded guilty.
Mr Solomon started the facts to be that Mr Rudd, the defendant, was a property holder in the neighborhood of Flagstaff, and had been before the Court once or twice before under similar circumstances. On the present occasion Mr Green had been for a walk with his step-son to Flagstaff, and when coming down was hailed by the old man, who demanded that they should "come out of that" Thinking he was by trespassing on his property. Mr Green said: "All right, as quick as I can." He got out of the old man's property as fast as possible, but when he got to the road he found the old man waiting for him, and the latter wanted to know what he meant by trespassing on his property. Mr Green said he was sorry if he had done so, and that if he had done any damage he would pay for it. Rudd was very angry, and seized hold of Green, and a bit of a scuffle ensued, and both fell to the ground. Mr Green ultimately wrenched himself away from the old man, his necktie being left in the latter's hands as be got up. Rudd also seized his gold watch chain as he was rising, and that was broken, and part left in Rudd's band. Mr Green said: "What right have you to treat me like that," and stooped down to pick up the chain, and then the worst part of the affair occurred, the old man rushing at him and kicking him twice behind the ear very violently so that he bad to be attended by a doctor all that night and next day. It was only fair to state that he knew from past experience that the old man was much annoyed by trespassers on his property.
Mr Emslie said Solomon had put a fair statement of the matter before the Court. He would like to point out, however, that practically speaking the whole of the top of Flagstaff was Rudd's property, part of it freehold and part leased. On holidays, Saturdays, Sundays, and Wednesdays a number of persons were frequently walking through and trespassing on his ground, though in this case Mr Green had assured them he was an innocent trespasser. Mr Rudd had to stand this annoyance year in and year out. Considerable damage was often done to his fence and any crop he might have. It was admitted that during the tussle Mr Green was kicked, and he had therefore advised Mr Rudd to plead guilty. Mr Rudd had no way of getting any redress, and it was a case for merely a nominal penalty.
His Worship said that it was a difficult thing to know what to do with this man, whether he should not be punished or sent to some place where he could be controlled. Only about a week ago, as he himself knew, he was following some young women up and down in the Kaikorai tram, but they managed to keep him in the tram while the young women escaped. (Mr Rudd: "These women had been annoying me and damaging my property.") If he went on as he was doing he was sure to land in trouble. He would be convicted and fined 20s, with professional costs (two guineas). -Evening Star, 14/2/1902.
FLAGSTAFF AND MR BEN RUDD.
TO THE EDITOR: Sir, — I notice that, during the police court case, reported in to-day's Times, Rudd's solicitor stated that practically the whole of the top of Flagstaff is Rudd's property. Now, I live in the Kaikorai district and frequently, like other people, take a run up Flagstaff. I have heard of Rudd and his propensities, and have always carefully avoided the enclosed selection on which he lives. Outside it there are no fences; there is nothing whatever between high roads and mountain top to suggest that the land is other than common. Am I, nevertheless, liable to Rudd's pleasant attentions? It would be a service to many Dunedin people who enjoy the breezy slopes and top of Flagstaff if somebody who knows would tell them where Ben Rudd's rights end and the public's begin. It would seem from Mr Emslie's remarks as if, so long as Ben doesn't kick us, he may knock us about as he pleases — that is, if he can; but, perhaps, he'll strike a snag next time. — I am, etc., T. E. C. -Otago Daily Times, 15/2/1902.
DEATHS
RUDD — On the 16th March, 1903, at Great Barr, near Walsall, England, Eliza Rudd, mother of Benjamin Rudd, of Flagstaff, near Dunedin; aged 79 years. -Otago Daily Times, 25/4/1903.
GENERAL servant Wanted. For address apply London Bookstall, 8 Arcade.
WANTED Known — I regret Trespassing on Mr Rudd's property, Flagstaff, on Saturday. J. E. Strachan.
WHY? Because the rain was wet, and I wanted my coat, of course.
DRAG and Harness For Sale, cheap; cash or terms. Address "S.T." 'Star' office. -Evening Star, 2/11/1904.
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MY OLD BAY MARE AND I.
Lines by Ben Rudd, Flagstaff, Dunedin, whose photo, of his old bay mare, will be found in this week's illustrated pages.
I am a country carrier, A jovial soul am I,
I whistle and sing from morning till night. And trouble I defy.
I've one to bear me company; Of work she does her share:
It's not my wife — upon my life! — But a rattlin' old bay mare.
It's up and down this Flagstaff side The mare and I will go,
The folk they kindly greet us, As we journey to and fro.
The little ones they cheer us, And the old ones stop and stare,
And lift their eyes with great surprise At Ben and his rattlin' mare.
When the roads are heavy, And travelling up the hill,
I am by her side assisting her, She works with such good will.
I know she loves me well, Because the whip I spare;
I'd rather hurt myself Than hurt my old bay mare.
When the town we reach She rattles o'er the stones;
And lifts her hoofs so splendidly — Not one of your lazy drones.
It's "clear the road" when Benjie comes: The crawlers all take care
Of Benjie's cart, the driver's smart, And his rattlin' old bay mare.
It's crack! goes my whip, I whistle and I sing,
I sit upon my waggon — I'm as happy as a king.
Round goes the wheel — Trouble I defy —
Go jogging along together, my boys, My old bay mare and I.
I would not change my station, With the noblest on the land —
I would not be the Premier, Nor anything so grand.
I would not be a nobleman, To live in luxury,
I state, if that would separate The old bay mare and me. -Otago Witness, 30/11/1904.
TRESPASSING AT FLAGSTAFF.
TO THE EDITOR.
Sir, — I was glad to see in your issue of 2nd ult. Mr J. E. Strachan's apology for trespassing on Ben Rudd's land at Flagstaff. The public have no conception of the mischief that is done by some of these uninvited guests. Trees and shrubs are destroyed in the most ruthless manner; flowers and fruit are plucked and stolen without the slightest compunction. The worst outrage, however, was perpetrated some years ago, when two or three of three miscreants loosened a long stone which projected out of the ground near the top of the hill. This stone, which probably weighed about a ton, came crashing down the hill, shaking the ground like an earthquake. Ben, who was working on the other side of his house, came round to see what was the matter, and was just in time to see it crash into a tree, then fall on to a large stone, which broke it into two pieces. One half lay where it was broken off, and the other half crashed into the fence, breaking three posts, and slackening the wires for a length of about three chains, the repairing of which was more than two days' work. It was no use following them, as before anyone could get to the top of the hill the men would be far away on the other side. I saw the wreck of the fence soon after it was done.
A short time since Mr Rudd left his home in a hurry, leaving a spade beside his front door, which he forgot to lock up. On his return he found it stolen, and he was obliged to go to Dunedin and buy another. A quantity of firewood was stacked in different places on the ground, and a lot of this has been stolen. When the top of Flagstaff was recently purchased for the public there were some sneers about "trespassing," and I write this letter to show there is real cause for complaint. — I am, etc.. J. Wycliffe Baylie. December 7. -Evening Star, 7/12/1904.
FLAGSTAFF BEN
THE STRANGE MAN OF THE HILL.
“Yes, her's been a good ’orse; but ’er's got no teeth and ’er can’t eat. Old? Yes; thirty-one come November if she lives. An’, see here mister, if her could chew ’er food an' keep fit ’er’d do a day’s work with any of ’em.”
Benjamin Rudd looked at Old Kit, and Hit turned from the bit of grass she was mumbling and looked back at him sadly. “Yes,” said Ben, “her's bin a good mare; but I ’as to feed ’er. I makes ’er mash an’ gives ’er that. I thought once,” he said later, “I’d best shoot ’er an’ end it all. So I made a song about ’er and got photographed with ’er. Mebbe ye saw the picture. No? Well I got it ’ere; I’ll show it to ye.”
“But the song; what about the song?”
“O, that’s there too. Well, as I tell ye, I got that done, an’ then I ’adn’t the ’eart to shoot ’er. Poor old Kit.”
“I know she loves me well, Because the whip I spare.
I'd. rather hurt mysel’ Than hurt my old bay mare.”
The casual Pressman who had happened on “Uncle Ben” looked at his mate as the old man muttered his lines over to himself. He fetched out an illustrated paper and put it on his little table.
"There! see if ye can see me an’ Kit there,” he said. And there he was; he and old Kit looking the friends they are.
“Now look at page 74,” said Ben, and there on page 74 were his verses. Not very strong verses perhaps. Not academic verses that is, nor even very originally-built verses. But good verses; verses that came from the heart of this strange little man. How did they go?
“I am a country carrier, A jovial soul am I,
I whistle and sing from morning till night And trouble I defy.
I’ve one to bear me company; Of work she does her share:
It’s not my wife — upon my life But a rattlin’ old bay mare.”
That was the first verse, and here is the last one: —
“I would s not change my station With the noblest in the land,
I would not be the Premier, Nor anything so grand.
I would not be a nobleman To live in luxury,
I state, if that would separate The old bay mare and me.”
And so through it all. Not much skill; not much deep thought. Just a rhyme of words built round one big feeling; one big love for the tousled, toothless, bay mare that for so long has been, the companion of his solitude.
You who have climbed the steep places of Flagstaff, and who talk scornfully, or fearfully, of the “Uncle Ben” who lives there: how many of you have guessed at the queer kindliness, the quick, wanton wit, or the shrewd philosophy that live in this Little Grey Man? Not many. And so a ‘Star’ reporter will try to tell you something of the romance and the unnamed things that have been born of the lonely life of him— him and his old mare, Kit.
The interview had a characteristic beginning — a statement of ownership, a request for names and addresses, and a descriptive remark about the shortcomings and frequency of trespassers. When he found that there was “business,” business about a horse, Benjamin Rudd was no longer the dangerous-looking man that 'picnickers' know. He began to thaw like the snow on the big hill, and the first little trickle of the real man came out of the frost of him. “These gentlemen’s on business,” he shouted to the two other trespassers he had been dealing with when the Pressman arrived. He, it was explained, was the sixth nuisance that had happened that morning. And nuisances had to be shooed off, and the “shooing” interfered with work, and work had to he done, and the doing took time, and time took flight. The logic of the argument was unanswerable — “nuisances” were not good. Then there was the business about the horse, some information about how a piece of land for a road had been “signed over to His Majesty the King,” and an invitation to “come inside if ye like while I have me bit o’ dinner.” Round the side of the stable, past the wood heap, is the back door of Benjamin Rudd’s house. And the back door opens into the kitchen, and the kitchen is the home. Here by his fire, with his books (a Bible, a dictionary, and an illustrated farmers’ almanac) his oil lamp, whose bowl is a square bottle, his bacon, and his household gear, old Ben sits o’ nights, alone and contented, thinking out his verses or crooning his song about his old bay more. “I sing mostly nights,” he said. “Tunes? No; I don’t know music. Just m’ own tunes is good enough for me. Verses? Well, I've always had a notion that way. I’ve made a many. Some things I’ve made up I’ve sent Home, an’ some has come back in magazines. But it’s the writin’ that troubles me. I’m poor at spellin’. People writes ’em down for me. Now, come up by the fire an’ it’ll warm ye.” The Pressman dodged a salt drop from a side of bacon hanging over him, and shifted round the table. Friendship grew as the bit o’ dinner diminished, and Ben crossed his legs by the side of the fire. The Pressman noticed in a vague sort of way that Ben’s Bible had a brown paper cover on it; that there was a tin labelled “Cadbury’s cocoa” amongst other things on a corner of the mantelpiece; that there was a smoky card with “Merry Christmas” on it above the fireplace, and a looking-glass in the window. “I suppose trespassers do worry you a bit?” he asked casually. “Pea rifles, perhaps.” “Aye,” said the Little Grey Man sharply, “I mind one time one o’ my ’orses went lame, ’n I couldn’t make it out. Thought he’d stubbed his leg. There was a hole, but so small ye could ’ardly see it. An’ it was all swelled. Well, I poulticed it, an’ after a bit out come a a rifle bullet. An’ then ’e gets well. D’ye call that kindness? I made a piece about trespassers.” The piece was a jingle of several verses, in which a pious wish was expressed to the effect that physical ailments might overtake vandal extravagators.
“D’ye know .....?” said Ben presently, mentioning the name of a certain rev. gentleman of repute and popularity. “Well, one day him an’ another man comes over my stone wall down th’ paddick. I goes up to 'im, asks ’im ’ow ’e come there, an’ demands ’is name. ’E wouldn’t speak at first; ’e was a bit deaf, ye see. Well, I follows ’em’s far an Whare Flat. Then ’e turns and asks me what I was followin’ ’im for. I asks ’im wot he come over the wall for. ‘ Well,’ ses ’e, ‘I didn’t think it any harm.’ ‘Well,’ I says, ‘I think it harm, an’ I want yer name.’ Then ’e gives me a card written ‘Dr .....’ ‘That doesn’t give yer address,’ says I, an’ he gives me the name of the street. I says: ‘You’re a minister, an’ don’t you preach “He that cometh not in at the gate but climbeth up another way, the same is a thief and a robber”?' He says: ‘That’s good logic.’ ‘Well,’ I says, ‘you preach that; an’ next time you comes to see me, come in at the gate.’ He said he would. ‘Was John Bunyan a good minister?’ I Says. ‘Yes,’ he says. ,‘Was ’e a good man?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well” what does he say about the two men that come tumblin’ over the wall?’ "’E give no answer to that, an’ said ’e would come in at the gate. Well, if 'e ’ad the book at home ’e’d look and see what John Bunyan says. D’ye mind it? ’E says the two men was taken an’ bound ’and an’ foot an’ put in a door in the side of the ’ill which was a by-way to ’ell.’ ’E premised to come an’ see me again. But for three or four years ’e didn’t come. So I made it my business to go an’ see him. An’ I says I thought a minister should fulfil that which he promises. ’E said ’e ’ad bin away to the Old Country, an' made several excuses.' ‘Well,’ I says, 'I had a very serious dream last night; would you mind me reciting it?’ ‘No' says he, 'sit down.’ ‘Well, I dreamed I was in 'ell, en’ I saw a lot of ministers there. Some of 'em was Dunedin ministers, an' they knew me. I asked ’em ’ow they come to be there. It was a terrible big place, with high walls round it. They called my attention to a writin’ on the wall: it was a card — “ The Rev. Dr ....." An' I asked them what that meant, an’ they,, said, it was followin’ him out of the way had taken them there. That was my dream.’ An’ he says please God it wouldn’t come true."
Little lines of pleasure ran about Mr Rudd’s face as he told this story, and he chuckled merrily at the end of it. “Must have that,” said the Pressman, who had been taking a surreptitious shorthand note all the while of the reciting. “He’s a fine man, the doctor, an’ he’d not mind a bit" “No, an’ ’e wouldn’t that,” said Ben. “’E took it so nice all the time, even w’en I went to ’is ’ouse. But, ye see, it was just because it was ’im that I done it.”
“I mind another time,” he looking at the fire, “some chaps come up over my land. I orders ’em off, an’ they won’t go. So we has a row of it, an’ they wounds me pretty bad. I says I’ll have the lor on ’em, an’ they gives me a pound to square it. Well I takes it, foolish like. (The lawyer tells me afterwards I could ’a’ got ten pounds out them in court, but I couldn’t go back on me word.) Well, one Sunday after that they comes np to th’ ’ouse wi’ a Bible an’ hymn book under their arm. An’ we talks at the door a bit, an’ then I asks ’em in. They comes in, an’ they preaches a reg’lar sermon, an’ sings Psalns. After a bit I says: 'You chaps ’ll be sure you’re goin’ to Heaven?’ ‘Yes,’ they says. So I says: What makes ye so sure? I’d like to know miself’ They turns to St. John (I forget the chapter), where it says: ‘Whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but hath everlasting life.’ ‘That’s a very good answer,’ I says. ‘But the Scriptures also says: “The devils believe and tremble.”’ An’ they further says: ‘He that believeth and doeth not, the infidel in the day of doom shall be accounted better than him.’ They couldn’t give any answer to that, because I asks 'em if they had done what they ought when they made that row with me. But they said they would be forgiven that — they were going to ’Eaven. I says ‘Peter’ll meet you at the gate, an’ he’s sure to ask some questions. What’ll you say?’ They says they’d say they had done good things — they’d tried to convert Mr Rudd an’ bring 'im with them. ‘Very good,’ says I. ‘But ’e will say; “Didn’t you go up awhile before an’ make a row with Mr Rudd?”’ An’ they says: ‘But we’ll be forgiven that.’ I says: ‘No. He’ll say, “If I lets you in,” he’ll say, “ you’ll go makin’ a row here. I’ll find quarters for you lower down.” Then they goes away.”'
The Pressman suggested that Mr Rudd knew his Bible well. “Aye,” said he “I read it through a-lyin’ in ’ospital. I got a bad leg, ye know. Been operated on Dunedin ’ospital. That’s w’ere I read the Bible.” “You’re a religious man?” It was dangerous ground for the Pressman. “‘Do’s you’d be done by,' that’s my religion.” said the Little Grey Man, and the question was answered.
He has queer views, this weird man of bleak places; but there is shrewd logic at bottom, and through all a poor little pulse of poetry that throbs always against its prison walls of disadvantage. Small sympathy has he for men. To them, mostly, he is the savage little despot of the tussock spaces and the scrub lands; a little uncanny to look on, and reputed of great strength and ferocity. But is repute a true delineator? Seldom. And is Benjamin Rudd truly ferocious? No. Suspicious always of his fellows, say some. Maybe; but if so, how did he come to leave two men, acquaintances of an hour, alone in his house while he went paddocks away with a cow and her calf? Just a little odd, a little different from the rest. Ben Rudd is of the Solitary People. Old Kit is his love, and the birds of the air and the beasts of the field are his friends. Here is a little note of sympathy in blast of protest against them that go not in at the gate:
“The native birds can get no rest.
They used to whistle and to sing,
And cheer me in the coming spring;
But now, my boys, they’re all at rest —
Killed by that human being pest.”
“They told me they’d have me up for cruelty to animals,” he said, as he cut up a cabbage for Kit’s mash. “There was two chaps in my paddock runnin’ a hare wi’ dogs. I orders ’em off, an’ they won’t go. She comes past me, the hare, an’ the dog after her. I’m cuttin’ beddin’ with a hook, an’ I throws the ’ook at the dog. It ’its ’im be’ind, I admit that” (there was just a little regret in the admission), “an’ so they says they’ll summons me for cruelty. But see, now; supposin' I’d throwed the ’ook at the hare, would that a been cruel? An’ I picks ’er up in the paddick afterwards. There she is, ’anging up there. Well, they didn’t summons me. An’ if they ’ad, I’d ’ave ’ad no lawyer. I’d ’ave just put it that way in court” “Ye see,” he said later on, “ it’s the people as sets up to know better as I likes to get at.
“Now, there’s the Rev. Mr ...., down there. ’E asks me one time to come to ’is church. An’ I says: ‘Well, I don’t like to see larrikins in nightshirts.’ ‘But there’s no nightshirts in my church,’ says he. ‘There’s larrikins, though,’ says I. ‘One night I see some young chaps come outa your church, an’ soon’s they gets roun’ the corner they outs with their shanghais an’ starts knocking the knobs offa the telegraph posts. Wasn’t them larrikins?’ ‘Well, he says, ‘there’s scabby sheep in every flock.’ ‘Then I won’t join your flock,’ says I, ‘case I gets the scab.’' ’E never ast me again.”
Then there was another example: “One day I meets a chap comin’ along through the paddick, an’ I asks him where he’s goin’. ‘Goin’ to the top o’ the ’ill for a walk,’ ’e says. An’ I says ‘Well, go back an' come roun’ by the road.’ He says ‘No,’ an’, says I: ‘Then it’s you and me for it if yer don’t.’ ‘Mind what yer doin’,’ says ’e; ‘I’m a lawyer.’ ‘Then,’ I says, ‘yer just the sorter .... I likes to get at.’ An’ we at it. ’E went back.”
The Little Grey Man shifted his crossed legs, looked up at his clock that hung above the fireplace, and said he must work. There were firewood and bedding for the stable to be got; there was chaff to be cut; there was old Kit’s mash to be boiled and the ducks to be fed. “’Fraid we’ve been keeping you from your work,” apologised the Pressman. “Yes, ye have,” said Mr Rudd, with his peculiar frankness. “Can we help?” “Yes, you can go and get a log up the bush. No, yer can cut chaff up ’n the loft.” Readers, have any of you ever turned a hand-run chaffcutter? If not, you have not known fatigue. It has two blades, this chaffcutter — two blades fixed on the spokes of the driving wheel, that follow one another so that as you turn you have two strains, one down and one up. You stand in a low, dark corner astride of the hole where the chaff drops through. A grey, little man who looks black and eerie against the outer light rams hay into the feed trough with the force of arms that are stronger than strong. And he talks as he rams, and knows not weariness. And you turn, and turn, till your muscles cramp at the grip of the big blades as they bite through the hard, dry grass. And the dust of the place rises up into your throat till your lungs swell against your chest and you gasp. Woe unto you, Inventor of Chaffcutters! “D’ye mind that time .....?” began the eerie person, as he scrunched another armful of hay into the feed box and added 20lb to the resistance on the blades. The Pressman minded nothing just then but chaffcutters, darkness, and dust. He longed for light and a big, big breath of the sweet, sun-cleansed air of the great wide earth. Anything, anywhere would be Heaven and Pure Joy, but that dim place where the long, curved knives dragged at aching sinews and gnawed “zh-h-ip zh-h-ip!" through the squeezed straw. "We're having to toil for this copy,” said the perspiring Pressman to his mate, “but its good stuff.”
Up in the bush above the house the Little Grey Man swung his big brown axe, as big as himself, with its straight, heavy, home-made handle. And the dry broadleaf shook at his blows, while two stood by and marvelled at the strength. of him. “Matrimony,” said Ben. “No.
“No crying child, no brawling wife,
Have I to plague my peaceful life.”
And that was all. “New Zealand? Yes, New Zealand’s good. There’s more room for a man here, an’ he’s free. But Home’s the best for farming. There’s no summer here. I've ’ad this land twenty-three year, an’ I've lived here nineteen. No; I ain't travelled much. Been as far's the Taieri, Green Island, an' roun' there. W’en come out 'n the Ionic — she was a new ship an' ’er first trip then, an' I made songs about ’er — there was no coasters. ’N so they let us run about Wellington an' Christchurch a bit while she was waitin’ there. Wished afterwards I’d bought land there ’stead of here. ’Twas the time o’ the land boom then, an’ I paid ’bout ten times as much ’s you could tray the lan’ for how. But it ain’t bad lan’, some. ’Ave a look at them swedes. They say nothin’ won’t grow on Flagstaff.” The swedes nearly averaged the size of a man’s head, and some were bigger. '“ 'N peas too, you can see the height they’s been.
* * * *
"That you, Ben?” The words come echoing across the gully, and Ben turned sharply and looked at a horseman through the trees along the boundary fence. “Yes,” he called hack. “What yer got there ?” His voice lifted easily, and his words, in high monotone, shot out from him with a power and clearness that were wonderful. Such is the way of them that live in desolate places and carry on neighborly conversations across half-mile paddocks. “That your cow on the road?” came back from the other man. “A brown cow, near black?” asked Ben’s tenor. “Yes.”
“Never mind the wood, boys,” said Ben. “I must get that cow in. I'll be up half the night now. I'm doin’ some blastin’ down below to-morrer, an’ I got a man helpin’ me. If I’m’ not there he’ll lose ’is day’s work. An' there’s Kit’s mash to boil yet.” “We’ll cut your wood.” “ No. You might get summat I don't want. Just bring one o’ them fusher logs an’ then ye can ’elp me with the cow.” The Little Grey Man swung the big axe over his shoulder, and ran down the hill. And the two others carried in the “fusher log.”
* * * *
"Now, milady, keep on th’ track. Well get ’er right down th’ paddick, then she'll not get out. Calf’s a poor little thing. ’E’s filled ’isself since morning, though. See any o’ my cattle's ye came up? Brown bullock, ye say? Not one o’ mine, then. What’s that? Oh, Shropsheer’s my country; but I been roun’ a bit. I know Sen Ellens (St. Helens) well. Believe I seen Seddon there ’fore ’e come out. Know ’is father’s ’ouse well. Thirty when I left. Been ’ere twenty-three years. Now, you keep down there by that stone wall an’ cross by them gums, an’ yer on the road. Ye can go ’cross them private paddicks if ye like; but if ye heed me ye won’t. Keep from trespassin’ an’ ye’ll be thought more of. An’, say, next time ye come to see me, come by th’ road, an' I'll like ye better. Well, good night, you chaps. I'll go look for my cows.”
The Little Grey Man turned back into the darkness and the scrub. Somewhere in it all were his cows, and he must find them, and then climb the side of the big cold mountain to his little house. And there he must cook old Kit’s dinner, and toil half the night, so that the man that was to help him at the blasting might not lose his day. “Ha-a-y.” (The high tenor note came out of the blackness above.) “Send us a ‘Star.’” And that was the last of the Strange Man of the Hill.
* * * *
Just a little odd; just a little different from the rest, and with a mission against trespassers. Some may laugh, and some may be angry. But perhaps when the picknicker goes climbing up the slopes of Flagstaff he will remember the Little Grey Man, sitting in his loneliness by his fire, crooning his queer little songs and stirring the mash for his old mare, Kit. And then, maybe, he will go in by the gate and climb not up some other way.
Farewell to you, Little Grey Man, with your songs and your solitude, your Bible and your old bay mare. -Evening Star, 24/6/1905.
WANTED Known — Poison laid continually on Ben Rudd's property, Flagstaff from this date. Trespassers prosecuted. -Evening Star, 15/3/1906.
BEN RUDD
AND HIS OPINIONS.
He that has "made an house of high places" — and lives in it — is bound to be unconventional of opinion. On that to which the lowly dweller looks up he looks down. The eyes of the walker of the streets see the surroundings that shut him in. The eyes of the climber of mountains look out over the rim of the world. And each set of circumstances breeds its own faults — the one narrowness, the other exaggeration. More or less, as the details vary, this is true.
Mr Benjamin Rudd lives upon Flagstaff, not quite at the top. He is a lonely man, living a lonely life, and he comes to conclusions at the end of his quaint philosophising. Old Kit, the bay mare who kept him company for nearly a score of years, is dead now. The weakness of age stole upon her gradually, till, one day, she fell down, and there was no more any strength in her to get upon her legs. The Little Grey Man had seen the time coming; and now it was come. For about twenty years those two had shared solitude; they had been friends with a strange friendship; he had made verses about her, and brewed her hot mash when her teeth left her; and she was used to rub her nose against him and look at him in a way she had. She looked at him, when he found her down, and it seemed the the old look. She looked at him, and he looked at her. And so they gave one another their eyes until he made up his mind. He did not try to deceive himself. The page of hope was turned over and smoothed down, and on the other side were just two words.
And so the Little Grey Man went home and got his axe — his big brown axe with the long, straight, home-made handle, "It was quicker that way," he said; "she might have kicked ten minutes with strychnine."
In the solitude he saw to her burial, and in solitude he went back to his work and his musings.
Ben Rudd has an extraordinary capacity for labor, which he directs after his own manner. With his own hands he has built stone walls 7ft thick at the base and 12ft high. With his own hands he has made stone culverts to drain the natural springs of the mountain, and he has shifted the hillside over them to make a garden. And because he does that kind of thing and has had experience of the struggle of rural existence in England (which only Richard Jeffries, one-time and always master of word color, has truly described), Benjamin. Rudd has strong, uncompromising opinions about the labor question in New Zealand. These views of his naturally sorted themselves into groups, and found expression in verse form, as most of his philosophy does. The verses found their way to a typewriter, and the product of the typewriter found its way, just before the General Election, to Mr Donald Reid, the Taieri "member,'' who seemed a fit and proper person to receive it. Here are the verses. They come from a high place, and may be left to tell their own story: —
A SONG TO MR. REID.
Come all you jolly farmer lads. And listen unto me:
And if I do but tell the truth, I know you will agree
There's not a lab'rer in the land Can earn the wage he asks.
There's ever work a-wanting done, But will not pay for cash.
What is this land a-coming to, 1 beg your leave to ask,
If farmers all the country through Grow gorse and weeds for grass?
As I was walking round one day I saw a farmer pass.
"Why you get that scrub out, Ben, And sow your land in grass?"
Then I said:
"Why, there's not a lab'rer in the land Can earn the wage he asks.
I've ever work a-wanting done, But have not got the cash"
Then he says:
"It's just the same with me, old boy. Then what will come to pass?
The land will all be gorse and weeds, Instead of wheat and grass."
The lab'rers in this country Are too proud to work at last.
What Ir suggest would be the best Is immigration fast.
Eight hours a day, eight bob a day, The farmers cannot stand,
With accident insurances, And taxes on the land
If I could see my money back I have buried in the sand,
Let Preservation* take the ground; I'd seek another land.
Now, farmer boys, hire no employs; Do all yourselves you can,
Till lab'rers' unions go to smash Throughout New Zealand's land.
Now, all you jolly farmer boys, Give Mr. Reid his seat.
Soon we will kill the gorse and weeds, And grow some grass and wheat.
*"Preservation" means the Reserves Conservation Society, who hold the summit of Flagstaff, once leased by Mr Rudd. Ben Rudd, as has been said, is a solitary person, and he lives high up on a mountain. Mr Reid, I understand, wrote back and told him that his verses summed up the position admirably, and Mr Reid lives on the Taieri Plain, which is like a big chessboard when you look down at it from Flagstaff.
The Little Grey Man is pessimistic about the future of New Zealand. Doubtless, the policy of the country does look odd from the top of Flagstaff. If he had his way he would shift his quarters. The Auckland Islands tempt him. He would go to one of them, by himself. He would take with him a few tools and necessaries, a cow, some pigs, and a sheep or two, and there he would make his home and live out his days, solitary, undisturbed, and contented, until the last sunset died out of the sky and the darkness of the last evening came upon him. It is a strange desire. Mr Rudd is a strange man. A de R. B. -Evening Star, 17/3/1906.
Owing to pressure of court business, the case of Rudd v. Fountain, in which Ben Rudd, of Flagstaff, is seeking damages for trespass and assault, has been adjourned again. Mr W. C. MacGregor for plaintiff and Mr L. T. Burnard for defendant tried hard to get the Court to take the case this morning, as witnesses had come from Flagstaff to give evidence. The magistrate (Mr H. Y. Widdowson), however, said that other cases were in much the same position, and he could not give preference to any particular case. The matter now stands adjourned to December 9. -Evening Star, 21/11/1907.
According to his statement in the Magistrate’s Court this morning it would seem that Mr Ben. Rudd, of Flagstaff, has reason to be very angry about the unauthorised visits of picnickers. Trespassers, said Mr Rudd, averaged one hundred a week, and in one year he had counted 16,000 people trespassing on his property. He had intended to rear native birds, native trees, and game on his but trespassers had defeated his objects. -Evening Star, 9/12/1907.
A FLAGSTAFF PICNIC.
ALLEGED ASSAULT AND TRESPASS.
Before Mr H. Y. Widdowson, SM, in the Magistrate’s Court this morning the adjourned action of Benjamin Rudd v. Edward H. Fountain, claim £10 damages by trespass and assault, was heard.
Mr W. C. Macgregor appeared for plaintiff, and Mr L. T. Barnard acted on behalf of the defendant.
Mr Macgregor said that on October 9 Rudd was walking over his property at Flagstaff when he came upon a party of picnickers who had lit a fire near a nice native tree. Rudd remonstrated with the man who seemed in charge of the party, and received a blow in the eye, which was blackened. The assailant held Rudd down, until the other members got through the fence. Rudd had been confined to bed for several days as a result of the injuries, and had to engage medical aid. Rudd found out that his assailant’s name was Fountain, and he instituted these proceedings against him.
Benjamin Rudd gave evidence. He said that he had tilled his property for twenty-two years. He detailed the circumstances of the assault, and said that Fountain blackened his (Rudd’s) eye, dumped him on a heap of stones, and hurt his arm. He was frequently annoyed by trespassers, and he denied having attacked Fountain. — To Mr Burnard: The number of trespassers averaged 100 a week. In the course of one year he had counted 16,000 trespassers on his property. He denied that he had ever “rushed“ a trespasser before giving warning, The trespassers always “rushed” him. Once he did attack a party of picnickers with a pitchfork, but it was to protect himself. He once fired at a man who insulted him. “I told him to run, gentlemen, and he DID run. That’s on my own, gentlemen, and the shot was fired at a range beyond danger.” He denied having cut another man’s head with a billhook. Regarding the present case of trespassing, he absolutely denied having thrown scalding tea on the defendant. He never had thrown boiling tea over girls or others. Where could he get boiling tea? The people kept their tea. Such stories were raised just for mischief.
Henry Hutchins, plaintiff’s neighbor, gave evidence respecting the condition of the plaintiff on the day the alleged assault took place. Plaintiff looked as if he had been knocked about, and had a lot of blood on him. Plaintiff always got excited when people trespassed, and it had become a craze with him. Under such circumstances plaintiff seemed to forget himself altogether.
Mr Burnard: It is difficult to get to Flagstaff without trespassing on plaintiff’s property.
Mr Burnard said that plaintiff was well known throughout Dunedin. He had been a source of terror for many years to people who desired to visit Flagstaff. He had really become a menace to the safety of the public. Counsel then detailed the circumstances of the alleged assault The party thought that they were camped outside of Rudd's property, and were trying to avoid meeting Rudd.
Edward H. Fountain deposed as to going on a picnic to Flagstaff on October 9, with his wife and family and friends. They formed a kind of shelter with a rug over a fence, near a cabbage tree. The party were reading when they were suddenly startled by a loud yell and the appearance of a man like a maniac, who cried “ I’ll land you." The man was Rudd, who held a billy of tea in his hand. Defendant thought that Rudd would throw it, and he knocked the billy out of his hand with a book. Rudd rushed at defendant’s throat. Witness naturally defended himself, and hit Rudd in the eye. Rudd snapped at defendant’s face with his teeth, bit his hands, spat in his face, tried to kick him on a dangerous place, and acted like a maniac — like a mad dog!
After evidence had been given by Wm. Aitken, Mrs Cheeeseman, and Rupert Fountain and argument by contending counsel heard, His Worship said that it appeared to him that there was no necessity for anyone who wished to go to Flagstaff to go through Rudd's land. No person had a right per se to go through another man’s land. No doubt people made a common use of other people’s land, but they were subject to prosecution if they did. In this case, where the land lay right in the track to the top of Flagstaff, it would be well if Rudd put notices at the lower end of his property as well as at the other end. The points to consider were; (1) The trespass, (2) the assault. With regard to the assault, from the cross-examination of defendant and the witness Hutchins, it was quite clear that Rudd became very frantic, and behaved more or less like a maniac. His Worship was satisfied he had behaved in that way on this occasion, and thus brought trouble on himself. The injury Rudd sustained from the assault was not as great as Rudd represented it to be. There was no doubt that he was struck, and received a black eye, but he was satisfied that Fountain was justified in using reasonable force to repel Rudd’s threatened attack. As to trespass, there was no doubt that Fountain’s party had trespassed, and they must have known they were trespassers on someone’s land. His Worship reviewed the items of damages claimed, and said he had no evidence that the broad leaf tree was damaged, as stated by the plaintiff. He was also satisfied that the track through the fence had been made by other trespassers. On consideration of all the case, he would give judgment for plaintiff, with damages of 1s without costs. -Evening Star, 9/12/1907.
DUNEDIN LETTER
Ben Rudd he was a settler bold, A worthy man of mettle,
At trespassers he'd rail and scold, Or bang them with a kettle.
If sticks were scarce he'd take a prong, A spade, or L H (long handled) shovel.
Or anything that came along, and run you at the double.
A roaring, ranting Wight was he, A sharp and fiery nettle,
The sort of man we seldom see, And never want to settle (near us).
"Ben," in fact, has gained a reputation that Thersites might envy and other men's dogs admire. He always gives his dogs a run for their money or dinner. If Ben spies a pair of trousers and a white petticoat making across his paddock he doesn't "shoo" them back at once, nor immediately begin to pelt them with cow droppings. No! He believes in fair play. He lets Adam and Eve, who are amiably strolling across his property, get a good half-way across and, if he is extra thoughtful, comfortably ensconced beneath a fig tree, then he sets the dogs at them or, better still, charges them in his own person like a body of cavalry, armed with a rake and pitchfork bellowing the meanwhile, like the Greeks before the walls of Troy. Then follow complimentary interchanges of what smart journalists with a turn for originality love to term "airy persiflage." Most frequently Phyllis catches up her skirts and runs for the fence, while Corydon, grasping his charmer's parasol, makes for the gap in the opposite direction, Result: Much fun for Ben Rudd. He chases the girl and the dog chases the youth. Whichever wins Ben has the cream of the joke. Phyllis' hair gets out of curl and Corydon feels like an ass. Hence there is a coolness when they meet an hour and a-half later on the high road, and the hospitable Ben retires to his family prayers reasonably happy. That has been the general way. Ben has spoiled more trespassing holiday makers' tempers and clean collars than the wet woather on the Chinese laundryman. But, like all things human, there are exceptions even to the smooth working of Ben Rudd's philosophy. Sometimes the chased and roared at hits back and hits hard. Most of us prefer loss of dignity, Phyllis's black looks, and that small feeling, to a taste of Ben's fork or his dog's teeth. A few, however, object, and when the objection has been lodged, Ben is the possessor of a cut cheek, a black eye, and a damaged countenance. I do not recommend this method of retort because it lays its user open to an action at law and Ben, as a man with a stake in the community, loves law.
Last week he brought one for damages against an indignant picnicker who objected to take his punishment lying down. He claimed L10 and he got 1s without costs. Clearly a losing game for his own lawyer would want more than 1s. I was wicked enough not to feel sorry. I know Ben Rudd has sympathisers — some time ago he was made a sort of Job, laboring under an accumulation of wrongs and was posed as the hero of a newspaper-story — and I am prepared to admit that there are those who may have annoyed him. But Rudd is living in the wrong country. I have a distinct recollection as a lad, of being ordered off the near cuts across a field in our dear, free, liberty-loving Old England. — I learned, too, in after years, that all a free born Englishman is entitled to is the right to walk the high road (in my time not even that, for toll-gates are everywhere) though in these days of motor cars he does this at great risk to life and limb. And, remembering these things, I protest against any landlord, or owner of paddock, seeking to perpetuate so ignoble and servile a condition of affairs in New Zealand. Technically we may be trespassing, but let the trespassed-on bring his actions, and there would be a cry of disgust from end to end of the Co —— I mean Dominion.
And if this be true of a mere formal refusal to permit the public to utilise a paddock for a picnic or short-cut, how much more is it when inoffensive and harmless pedestrians are rushed at by some roaring human bull, axe in hand, shouting and gesticulating as though murder had been or was about to be done. The Rudd specimen of landlord is a preposterous one. Punish deliberate and destructive and offensive "trespassers" by all means — that should be done whether in country or town — but that any man should have the legal right to carry on in the Rudd fashion is a ghastly mockery. The man should be compelled to behave himself. There ought to be enough work to do without wildly pursuing, at great waste of energy and breath, the unfortunate wanderer who is as innocent of "trespassing" with intent, and more innocent still of doing any damage, as the unborn babe. At the same time, when I do take a walk up Flagstaff way I shall "go round" My conversational powers are as weak as my physique. No Ben Rudd for me. -Bruce Herald, 16/12/1907.
THE FLAGSTAFF HERMIT.
Sir, — In the late court case, Rudd v. Fountain, we have it in evidence that this feeble old man, the plaintiff, has the fee simple of a large section of land stretching about a mile across the bleak slopes of Flagstaff. He had it securely enclosed with a substantial wire fence — five barbed and two smooth wires. Anyone familiar with a wire fence of this description would require no notice board to apprise him of its intention. Is is any sin for this old man to hold sacred the area enclosed with this barbed protection? He is trying to beautify the place with sylvan attractions to encourage ground and feathered game to resort thereto, where they may rest in peace and security. Is there no protection for an old man with these commendable amenity proclivities?
The evidence discloses the kind of respect an unthinking section of the community entertains for this feeble old man's sacred rights. His fences are ruthlessly destroyed; 16,000 people — harriers, shooters, and others — trespass over his property in one year. They shoot his game, burn his timber, and destroy his plantation. If he expostulates some of them don't merely say "I'll land you," but they land him without warning, while their chums clear with the slaughtered game. By some he is subjected to assaults, his eye is blackened, and he is otherwise severely knocked about. I cannot find that Rudd has committed any actual physical violence. He has threatened a lot, scared trespassers with gunshots, and resorted to other expedients to expel the intruders. Time was, a not long since, when a man found trespassing upon the sacred enclosure of my lord was liable to transportation, and my lord's game-keeper would not think twice, much less argue, before shooting if he found the trespasser poaching his lord's game. I am not in favour of this extreme, but in the name of all that is sacred, just, and reasonable, what is this feeble old man to do to ensure the protection of his person and property? "One shilling fine, without costs" does not appeal to me as a suitable deterrent. We are told that Rudd roared like a maniac and foamed at the mouth. The wrongs he has been subjected to would make me foam at every pore.
Flagstaff is a very favourite resort for holiday-seekers. His Worship was good enough to intimate that it was not necessary to trespass on Mr Rudd's property to reach the top of Flagstaff. As the holiday season is at hand my excuse for writing is to elicit the sympathy and respect of the pleasure-seeking public for Mr Rudd's sacred rights. As a matter of fact, Mr Rudd is known to take a plcasure in showing people over his place, but he strongly objects to uninvited intrusion, and becomes desperate when the intrusion is attended with destruction or violence.
— I am, etc., Tamate Patene. -Otago Daily Times, 24/12/1907.
"THE LITTLE GREY MAN."
FLAGSTAFF BEN'S TROUBLES.
TWO YOUTHS FINED.
Benjamin Rudd, the little grey man of Flagstaff, to approach whose sentry-box, perched on the hill, is like carrying a flag of truce to a beleaguered fortress, brought his troubles to the Police Court once more this morning. Armed with a formidable plan of his property, but leaving his big stick on the seat behind him, he stepped into the witness-box to give evidence, in a polite voice quite at variance with his (probably undeserved) reputation, against Edward Greenslade and Francis Greenslade, two boys, who were charged with having assaulted him on Sunday last.
Mr B. S. Irwin defended the accused, who pleaded not guilty.
Mr J. B. Callan prosecuted. Mr Callan said that Mr Rudd, at about ten in the morning, being some distance from his house, but on his own property, heard shots fired. He went down, and saw three men advancing through his property, also seeing them fire further shots. One of them he recognised as a man named McIntyre, who had often been warned off his property. To this man he went first, and entered into an altercation with .him, disputing his right to be where he was. While this was progressing the other two men, the accused, closed in, and one or other of the three present tried to set their dogs on him. Then, while the altercation still continued, Mr Rudd heard sticks broken to right and left, and the next instant he received a blow on the head, which stunned him. When he regained consciousness the accused had gone into the next property. Rudd went down and got the Roslyn constable, and showed him the spot. It was well known that Mr Rudd had peculiar ideas about his rights as a property-holder, but he had a perfect right to insist that people should not go on his property.
Ben Rudd stepped into the box and told his story, playing with his round grey hat as he spoke. When asked to identify the lads in court he raised his hand to his eyes as a sentry scanning a distant skyline. "Them are the two, I believe." he said, as the boys walked into his direct line of vision. Ben went on to tell how the lads trespassed on his mountain domain. When remonstrated with they set their dogs to bite him. "Instead of biting me," said Ben, "the dogs jumped at a hare in the hand of one of the party. There was furs about, but the hare was not badly bit. And as I was watching the dogs I got a blow from behind. I got the blow on here" (the bald part of his head) "and one mark near my eye. There was I with my face and head all over blood." (Here Ben's voice faltered.)
To Mr Irwin: I cannot sleep nights for trespassers. They even lodge nights in my building. And they are shooting all night — in moonlight, you know. When I go up my loft I find they had been lying in the hay. And matches all about! They've even been sleeping there. The roof of my house is all bulleted (bulletholes all through it). And trespassers throw clods at me. I don't keep a gun now; I'd rather keep a spade and dig out weeds.
Mr Irwin: Do you say these boys are weeds?
Ben: Oh, them are weeds all right.
He admitted that some time ago he fired a gun off to scare a man, and was brought to court for it. But he was not a good shot, and so did not keep a gun at all now. And the man whom to frighten he fired the gun off had often apologised since and said he deserved all he got.
"What did he get?" asked Mr Irwin.
"Nuthin." said Ben.
The amusing feature of Ben's cross-examination was the kindly way he beamed on Mr Irwin. Ben seemed to look upon him not as a hostile counsel, but as another friend to help him against an irritating world.
Dr O'Neill said that the wound on Rudd's head was such as would probably be caused by a blow from behind.
Constable Murray detailed the nature of the ground where the assault was alleged to have been committed. He saw a number of footsteps about the spot, and there were branches broken off the dead manuka near.
Mr Irwin outlined the defence, which was simple: That Rudd came to the three when they were on Mouat's property, and tried to take a hare from McIntyre. McIntyre grappled with him, and the two fell. The only way that the accused interfered was to pull McIntyre off Ben. The three were only too glad to get away from Ben, who was a dangerous man, not particular what weapon he used. "He's a nuisance to everybody who goes to Flagstaff," said Mr Irwin. "He seems to think that every hare there belongs to him. It's bad enough when he stops on his own property, I submit that he is vindictive."
Edward Greenslade said that he was not on Ben's property at all. They were shooting hares on Mowat's place, and Ben came rushing over just like a mad dog and grabbed hold of a hare in the hand of McIntyre and pulled a leg out of it. Ben. had a manuka "'waddy" in his hand. Neither witness nor his young brother touched Ben Rudd.
Mr Callan: How many times have you been on his property before?
Witness: This was the first time — I was never there at all. I thought you said this was the firsts time?— I didn't say it.
His Worship: Yes, you did.
Witness: I didn't mean to say it; I'm a bit flurried. It was a mistake if I did.
Francis Greenslade corroborated his brother. "Willie" McIntyre, a man in years at least and apparently a bit of a character himself, clumped to the box as if he was walking over a ploughed field. He said that Ben went for him "like a big wild sod."
"I put him on the broad of his back." continued Willie. "He lay on his back pulling the hare to pieces like an Indian."
Mr Callan: How many times have yon been on his property?
"Willie" (with obvious gusto): I was never on it till Sunday.
Last Sunday? — Yes.
Mr Callan (innocently): Where did you get through the fence?
"Willie": I got through — I got through (Suddenly recollecting himself) I was never on it.
Mr Callan: I don't think I need ask any more.
Mr Irwin said that he had had to call the last witness, but understood that he was not responsible.
Mr Widdowson. S.M.: I believe that the elder defendant accidentally told the truth when he let slip that he was on Rudd's property. What little doubt I may have had has been dispelled after hearing the evidence for the defence. I have no hesitation in entering a conviction. The old man may be a bit peculiar about his property, but young fellows, even if there is a scuffle, have no right to assault him. In the circumstances each defendant will be fined £2, and will pay the costs (2 guineas) between them. The informant is to receive one-half of the penalty. -Evening Star, 21/5/1909.
Ren Rudd, the hermit of Flagstaff, was thrown from a horse in the Kaikorai Valley on Monday evening, and sustained a nasty cut on the head. Dr Ritchie, who was passing at the time, attended to the injured man, and advised him to go to the Hospital, but Rudd declined to do so, and with his swag on his back and his arm slipped through the bridle he set out for his home on the lull. As some doubt existed as to whether the old man would reach his home safely, Constable Hodgson, of Roslyn, journeyed to Flagstaff this morning to set this doubt, at rest. He found the injured man very little the worse for his accident. -Evening Star, 24/9/1913.
CASUALTIES
An old man named Benjamin Rudd, of Flagstaff, was badly gored by a bull on the 29th ult. It appears that he was milking a cow, when the bull savagely attacked him, causing severe injuries. A young man came to the rescue, and succeeded in driving off the infuriated animal. Mr Rudd was brought to the Hospital, and was reported to be in a precarious condition. -Otago Witness, 7/10/1914.
A DUNEDIN WALK
OVER THE HILL TO WHARE FLAT
by O.B. (Oscar Balk, excerpt)
Following the old trail towards Flagstaff “trig.” We are presently attracted by a curious pile of broken rocks running in a dead straight line alongside the track for three or four chains, looking for all the world as if they had been built up at one time by masons working with a line, and yet having no apparent object whatever. Many a time we puzzled whether these rocks had been piled up by nature, or the hand of man, and we had discussed many theories regarding their origin. At last some two years ago we had in our party one who had made a study of geology as a practical miner, and who was greatly interested when we took him to these rocks. Without any hesitation he assured us that the hand of man had nothing to do with these rocks, that they were a geological "lode" or “dyke," and that this particular one was well-known among geologists all the world over, and that he had more than once looked for it, but had so far been unable to locate it. We were naturally much interested in this explanation, and accepted it implicitly.
Once more we inspected this ancient dyke, and again marvelled at its astonishing straightness. Then we took a new track which crossed it and ran over the hill in the direction of Whare Flat. This track has recently been roughly formed by our old friend, “Ben” Rudd, and leads to his new abode. Some 18 months ago “Ben” sold out of the property he held for so long, and was given an easy billet with comfortable quarters and good food by a resident of Maori Hill, but after a while the Call of the Wild was too strong for him, so he bought a fresh ranch, of rather more than 100 acres, and is now busy putting up a new “home” among rocks and scrub, on one of the sunniest and most picturesque spots on the mountain side. With much toil he has formed the long track, and carried all the material for his hut on his back over the mountain. Now, his great concern is again to keep trespassers off his ground, and he lets you know, without a trace of a shadow of a doubt, that nobody has his permission to come on his property, and that he prefers to be entirely left alone. Having been on good terms with him for many years I took my party to his hiding place, and, after expressing our admiration of his garden plot, I asked him, “Ben, you know that dyke running at the top of the hill here? How did it get there?” “Oh, that was built there about 40 year ago by man named Ross. An old Irishman who lives in the Kaikorai Valley worked on it.” Here was interesting information. I made it my business later on to look up this old Irishman, and heard from him that Ross had the wall built for the boundary of his property, but got tired of it soon after starting. So here evaporated the scientific explanation of the wonderful lode! -Otago Daily Times, 8/10/1921.
WAKARI FLOWER SHOW.
A PLEASING DISPLAY.
The annual flower show, under the auspices of the Wakari School Committee, in aid of its funds, was held in the school gymnasium on Saturday. There was a good attendance both in the afternoon and evening in spite of the rain. There were good entries in all the classes and the flowers made a fine show. The quality of the exhibits was remarkably good, but the rain of the previous day or two had its effect on the flowers, and for the same reason the entries of vegetables suffered to a small extent. An entry of great interest to the residents of the district was that of Mr Ben Rudd. Mr Rudd had potatoes and rhubarb on exhibition and was successful in gaining a first prize for each. -Evening Star, 12/3/1928.
THE OLD WAGON TRAIL
JOHNNY JONES'S ROAD
[Written by Jas. J. Kennedy, Otago Tramping Club, for the 'Evening Star.’]
(excerpt)
On the southern shoulder of .Mount Flagstatf, which lies behind the city of Dunedin, the old Wagon Trail crosses the Whare Flat road on the Long Ridge near the horse trough, and where the checkerboard-like surface of the Taieri Plain throws into view one of Dunedin's most pleasant pictures. Here let us pick up the old trail, and follow it to the north. It is early morning. The hand of spring is on the whole countryside, and all Nature is looking its best. The stillness is broken only by the song of the skylark and the plaintive bleat of the distant lambs. The old Wagon Trail runs just at the back of the summit of Flagstaff, and as we move along a thin spiral of smoke ascending into the clear morning air attracts our attention. It arises from a small lone sheiling some way down the western face of the mountain. This is the home of Ben Rudd, known as the Hermit of Flagstaff, a hardy old hillman, who has passed about half a century of his lifetime on these hills. -Evening Star, 20/12/1928.
THE OUTSKIRTS OF DUNEDIN.
A TRAMPER’S PARADISE.
Written for the Otago Daily Times. By E. V. B. (excerpt)
Before leaving Flagstaff I think I should say a few words about a well known character in these parts. Ben Rudd is a native of England, coming from Worsall, in Yorkshire. He is a much wronged man. True, his hermit life on the bleak slopes of Flagstaff has made him rather eccentric, but he is entitled to the respect of all trampers. He first had his little hut and garden on the Dunedin side of Flagstaff, but it was attacked mercilessly by Dunedin “roughs” out for an afternoon’s sport. They ruined his garden, rolled boulders on to his hut, sprang his rabbit traps, and altogether maltreated the unfortunate old man. To escape from the menace of the roughs he was forced to carry his hut piece by piece over to the other side of the hill. It was such a type of youth that caused the fires on Flagstaff last year. -Otago Daily Times, 1/6/1929.
After a strenuous ascent of two hours from the heart of the city, two youthful climbing, enthusiasts made a call on Mr Ben Rudd, the hermit of Flagstaff, at his residence on the west flank. Neatly fenced off in a small glade, the hut of stones surmounted with an iron roof presents a strange picture. For forty-six years, amid the heavy snow and hail of winter, the sharp frosts of spring, and the sun of summer, “the little grey man” has lived his strange life, keeping himself by the cultivation of his vegetables. In conversation, he stated that the last year or two had been very cold for him, with the snow lying thick everywhere, and it was impossible to plant his potatoes until just recently. With seventy-five years to his credit (his birthday falling on February 24), it is marvellous that a man should sustain the life he does. The work of his garden had increased, but, as he said, he found it impossible to put the same zeal into it as in former years. In fact, for many days all he could do was to lie on his bed and eat some nourishing biscuits. In bidding farewell, he remarked that though he was not fond of visitors calling upon him, yet he was satisfied to show them over if they brought up some luxury for him to enjoy in his old age. -Evening Star, 14/9/1929.
HERMIT IN HOSPITAL
BEN RUDD FOUND ILL
The hut on Flagstaff occupied for many years by Mr Ben Rudd is known to almost everyone who has visited the spot. Yesterday it was visited by Mr and Mrs A. G. Stratton, of Mornington, who found the old hermit in a very bad condition. He was very ill, and was unable to look after himself, and consequently had been without attention for a considerable period. Mr Stratton straightway went to Ashburn Hall to ring the police, and several policemen, the ambulance, and Dr R F. Wilson, of the public hospital, were sent out. The ambulance could not reach the hunt, and had to be left about a mile and a-half away. Many hands made light work, and the hermit was carried through the bush to the waiting ambulance, which conveyed him to the hospital, where he lay all night in a somewhat serious condition. The authorities this afternoon reported that he was a little easier. Mr Rudd's suffering is caused through old age, he being eighty-seven years old. -Evening Star, 24/2/1930.
DEATHS
RUDD. — On March 2, 1930, at Dunedin Hospital, Benjamin Rudd, of Flagstaff; aged 76 years. —Interred this day at Anderson's Bay Cemetery.
— Hope and Kinaston, undertakers. -Evening Star, 3/3/1930.
DEATH OF BEN RUDD
PICTURESQUE FIGURE PASSES
Popularly known as the “ Hermit of Flagstaff.”" Mr Ben Rudd died at the Dunedin Hospital yesterday morning. A picturesque figure for nearly fifty years, he lived on the mountain without human companionship of any kind, save for very occasional visits from the few who knew him. He was a man who preferred to be by himself, and, indeed, resented the intrusion of strangers into his domain very strongly. This feeling was generally respected, but his long occupation Mr Rudd was continually subjected to annoyance from larrikins. The development of his small farm near the top of Flagstaff exemplified his astonishing patience and perseverance, and made him the centre of considerable interest from those who passed by.
At the time of his death Mr Rudd was 76 years of age. He came to the dominion as a very young man, and took up residence in the Kaikorai Valley where he followed the occupation of gardener, having served his apprenticeship in England. His ability in this direction was exceptional, and up to the time he left the Valley to take over a small farm near the top of Flagstaff about forty years ago he was one of the best-known gardeners in the city. Eleven years ago he sold his farm and came to the city as gardener for the late Mr Peter Dawson. He resided there for some eighteen months, but soon tired of city life, and retired to Flagstaff again, where he pitched a tent on the site of his more recent residence. Here he lived a solitary existence until his last illness. He was discovered last month in a very bad condition. Having been unable to look alter himself, he had been without attention for a considerable period. The ambulance was summoned, but could not reach his isolated hut, and he had to be carried about a mile and a-half before he could be conveyed to the hospital. -Evening Star, 3/3/1930.
Andersons Bay Cemetery, Dunedin.
BEN RUDD SPEAKS
HIS TEXT IS TAXES
DOG DAY DOGGEREL
During the war period, when taxes multiplied, the old Hermit of Flagstaff, Ben Rudd, whose death took place on Sunday, was moved to commit his impressions to paper, and composed a set of verse running to twentynine stanzas. The old fellow had something of the gift, as a few of the verses, reproduced below, bear witness: —
TAXES.
They’re going to raise the mustard; They’ve already taxed the gin;
They’re going to tax the needles And they’re going to tax the pin.
They’re going to tax the bonnets, And they’re going to tax the hats,
And they’re going to lay a heavy tax On pickled eels and sprats.
They’re going to tax the scissors, Kettles, tables, spoons, and knives,
They’ll tax the donkey drivers, And all their bloomin’ wives.
They took the tax off paper. They tell you that’s a treat.
They’ll let, you have a blessed read, But give you nought to eat.
They’ll tax salt, fish, and parsnips, They’ll tax all kitchen stuff,
They’ll tax the soap and soda, The porridge and the snuff.
They’re going to tax the barber, too, They’ll triple-tax his chair;
They will surely lay a duty On all profits made from hair.
They’re going to tax the farmer; They’ll triple-tax his hay.
They’re going to make the policeman Live on air instead of pay.
They’ll tax all baked potatoes; They’re going to tax the swedes;
And when the sun begins to shine They’ll tax the bugs and fleas.
They’re going to tax the bedsteads; They’re going to tax the windows;
They’re going to tax the coals and coke, The chamber pot, and cinders.
They’re going to tax the bread; They’re going to tax the meat;
They’re going to tax old women If they haven't got sharp teeth.
They’re going to tax the snobs; They’re going to tax the bakers;
They’re going to tax the grocer, And they’re going to tax the Quakers.
They're going to tax the rabbits; They’re going to tax the hare;
They’re going to tax the travelling horse, They’ll tax the breeding mare.
Then they’re going to tax the water; They’re going to tax the well;
And they swear they’ll tax the devil If they catch him out of Hell.
And they’ll lay a tax on everything you have to keep you warm.
In fact, they’ll tax the babies A week before they’re born.
To tax and starve the nation They'll cobble up some laws.
But the Devil says he’ll tax them all When he gets them with his claws.
Benjamin Rudd. -Evening Star, 4/3/1930.
FROM A SUBURBAN BALCONY
THE HERMIT LIFE (abridged)
We have lately buried an example of it in the person of Ben Rudd. I met him several times. But it was my fortune to make my first acquaintance with him in one of his less gracious moods. It was a winter day, the snow lay thick about Flagstaff and its base. A friend and myself were urging our way to the summit. The air bit shrewdly; but it had the lightness and exhilaration that characterises it when it comes thrice sifted over fields of frozen snow. Quite unintentionally we happened to cross a corner of Ben Rudd’s property. The snow had obscured the track. The old man darted out after us like a spider when the fly is caught in his net. We thought he would turn back when we went off his property, which we set about doing quickly. But no, on he came at a furious pace. Then we resolved to give him a run for it. So we started off down towards the Taieri Plains. But he was bent on capturing us, and followed hard after us. On and on we fled him down the labyrinthine ways,
But, with unhurrying chase
And unperturbed pace,
he pursued us. After we had gone a mile or two, scrambling over fences and floundering in and out of snowdrifts, the thing got past a joke. So we thought we would stop and face the inevitable; for he was evidently determined to follow us up no matter how far. So we stood still. When he overtook us he was frothing at the mouth, partly with rage, partly with breathlessness! He demanded what we meant by trespassing on his property. We said we did not know we were doing so. “Why, then, did we run away from him?” That did seem to indicate a guilty conscience. But we expressed sorrow in silver words, in the form of half a crown each, for we really pitied the old soul. He told us how he was pestered out of his life with people breaking down his fences. Then we got to talking in a friendly way. He told us something about himself. I asked if he ever went to town. Yes, he did sometimes, but as seldom as possible. I gave him a cordial invitation to come and see me next time he was in Dunedin. He did. A good while after the foregoing events he turned up one day, just after lunch was over. He had not had any, so we made that right for him. Then he gave us something of his history; told us how he was well connected at Home; how he was the black sheep of the family and had run away, and all the rest which has already been told in the newspapers. He said further that he had had a dream recently. He dreamt he was in hell. In one of its chambers he saw inscribed on the wall the names of a number of young men belonging to a certain church society in Dunedin, and the name of a D.D. who was described as the leader of the band. I said it was to be hoped that, in this instance anyway, the adage would be true— that dreams go by contrariness — otherwise the outlook for the society in question and its leader was bad. He agreed. He became communicative. He wondered pathetically why people would keep pestering him by trespassing and annoying him in various way. Tears gathered in his eyes as he told the story of his wrongs. I really felt very sorry for the poor old chap, advised him to see a lawyer, and tried to help him in several ways, which I need not detail here. And now his trials are at an end, and after life’s fitful fever he sleeps well. But if it be true that he who makes two blades of grass grow, where there was only one or none before deserves well of his country, Ben Rudd should shine in the honour. For he did accomplish this in his little farm. He did something more than this; he revived in some small degree the ideal of the hermit life. Ron. -Evening Star, 22/3/1930.
“UNCLE BEN.”
THE LATE HERMIT OF FLAGSTAFF.
A correspondent writes: The death of the Dunedin hermit, Mr Ben Rudd, brings back to mind some memories of that quaint figure. In his more active days he was often to be seen buying stores in the Kaikorai Valley. Known to one and all as “Uncle Ben,” he was a most picturesque figure with his snow-white beard, and hair, short, stooping figure, and clothes mended with string, and even sometimes with flax. Usually he would lead with him his beloved horse, which he was never seen to ride. In his more genial moods “Uncle Ben” would demonstrate this horse’s tricks to the school children, making it shake hands and perform many other such tricks. When roused, however, he had a terrible temper. On no account would he tolerate being called “Uncle Ben.” He accepted “Mr Rudd,” or even “Ben,” but never “Uncle Ben." On one occasion many years ago, when two young women were passing near his home, one of them made some remark about “Uncle Ben.” The hermit, who had evidently been hidden by a tree, hearing himself referred to as “Uncle,” rushed out in a fury, seized the young lady, and dragged her several yards along the road by the hair. He would on no account permit any person to shoot rabbits near his home. One young man, carrying a rabbit which he had shot, was unfortunate enough to meet “Uncle Ben.” The hermit promptly knocked him down, and then pounded him across the face with the rabbit. On another occasion he quarrelled with a neighbouring farmer, and became so infuriated that he brought forth a shotgun. The farmer, knowing well his danger, galloped off on his horse, but “Uncle Ben” took a flying shot and succeeded in slightly wounding both rider and horse. -Otago Daily Times, 24/3/1930.
BEN RUDD, THE FLAGSTAFF HERMIT.
Many kindly references have been made to the late Mr Ben Rudd. From boyhood I knew him well, as he often worked for my father and. hardly ever mounted the hill before he had called in to say “goodnight.”
The late Mr Peter Duncan, of Maori Hill, was a good friend to Ben, and I can yet hear the old man say to me, “Johnnie. Mrs Duncan has filled me up to the chin.” Ben ceased to come down to work, and on week-ends Mr Duncan would make the long climb to see how the old man was faring. My father often did the same, taking me with him.
What a worker was Ben! In a dip of the hills he picked a spot full of stones as big as a house. How he shifted these and built them into a wall passes one’s comprehension. You understand the ancients and their toils when you see what this old man did single-handed.
The location of his section caused trouble, for when you go to the dip the top lay right in front of you, but intervening was the Rudd estate. And estate it was, for he bought up over 100 acres. The natural road was across Ben’s property, and the barbed wire fence was so close that a rabbit could hardly go through. Here was the temptation. Climbers got over the top or, worse still, strained the wires to let their lady friends through. God help you if you were caught.
One day I wag up visiting Ben and we were strolling round when suddenly a great tall man and his daughter or daughters — I forget which — were seen coming through the fence. There was a roar and a rush for the first available weapon which happened to be a pitchfork. Away I tore to warn the invaders and discovered to my horror it was my college singing master the late Mr A. M. Braik, The girls got off the land, but Mr Braik and I had to appease the tiger. After a keen struggle the Braiks escaped, but I was in disgrace. For more than a year he passed me without a word. His words still come to me as he turned his back, "Oh, Johnnie I did not expect that from you.”
Some months afterwards I bearded the lion in his den, taking a good stock of delicacies. I found the old man very weak and so by gentle ministry I atoned for what he considered a great wrong.
The great dykes Ben had built were his pride. But many a man found them too great a temptation. They presented such a vantage-ground from which to survey the landscape. If you were caught once, you did not go again.
Ben suffered for his virtue. He loved the beautiful in Nature, and all through his little glen he had left choice natiee trees. A creek babbled its wav through his land close to the house, and many a choice corner he had made with native trees, clematis, and ferns. He was away all day working in the Kaikorai Valley or up in Roslyn. Often when he went home his animals had been let out, and were straying miles away. The little groves were burned. Picnickers made their fire, and then thought nothing of firing some clump dear to Ben’s heart. One day he found 12 ducks dead — poisoned. Why are men so devilish to the queer, to those who seem odd? I have seen the old man almost in tears when he surveyed the ruins. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and stayed at home, living on very little. The thoughtless and the intentionally destructive will never know how Ben suffered through their actions.
Mr Duncan got Ben to surrender his gun, so that he would not be tempted to use it. Many a more polished man would have used it more. I do not wonder at what Rudd did, but at what he retrained from doing. Dear old Kit, his old mare, was pensioned off and cared for till she died. I can see him yet; clothed in corduroy to a fixed pattern, made by the late Mr A. Anderson, of Rattray street, he presented a queer spectacle.
Often did he run into Kaikorai School with a lump of meat under his arm. Without invitation he entered our rooms after some youth who had dared to call out to him. The teacher generally had trouble to pacify him.
Ben loved children. Birds and flowers and trees were dear to his heart. Beneath that rough exterior there was a very human heart, but the actions of men soured him, and he fled from men to Nature. Peace to Ben’s ashes! He has left the imprints of his skilled labour in the mountain-side. -Otago Daily Times, 29/3/1930.
THE POSTIE'S BAG
74 Havelock street. Dear Big Brother Bill, — it is a long time since I wrote last. I am in Standard 11 at Mornington School. One Saturday my two friends, Stan and Bill, went to an old hermit’s hut. He was Ben Rudd. When he was alive he used to keep a shotgun. If anyone came near the hut he would get his gun out and point it at them, but he did not keep it loaded unless he was shooting rabbits. We took some saveloys and potatoes with us. With love to all the bairns, from Jack Weatherston.
[Many thanks for your letter, Jack Woatherston. Brother Bill is glad to receive another letter from you. Brother Bill remembers old Ben Rudd and his hut in the hills. But he did not know that the old hermit had a shotgun with which to frighten away visitors. It is a good thing that the gun was not loaded. But Brother Bill is afraid that visitors were not always kind to the old gentleman, and that sometimes his annoyance had a great deal of justification. It is a wise and kindly thing to remember always that people who may seem to be peculiar Have their own good reason for appearing that way. Just why old Ben Rudd wished to be hermit of the hills is best known to himself, but, as long as his peculiarities brought no danger to another person, he was quite entitled to them all. Brother Bill remembers, in the days when he was learning this lesson, a peculiar fellow who preferred to live alone in the Australian bush. Like old Ben Rudd, he wanted none near him. Then, someone who knew, told the reason of his strangeness. It was the story of a fire that burned his house and home, his wife and two children as well. Afterwards, Brother Bill did not laugh at the peculiar old man who dwelt alone in the bush with his sorrows and his bitter memories. It was too sad. Write again soon.] -Evening Star, 5/11/1932.
HERMIT’S HOME
AREA ON FLAGSTAFF PURCHASE BY TRAMPERS
BASE FOR WINTER SPORTS
With admirable foresight, the Otago Tramping Club has recently purchased an area on the top of Flagstaff Hill, known as the Ben Rudd estate. Many Dunedin residents will remember old Ben Rudd. A misanthrope who also preferred his own company to that of his fellow men, he lived alone for many years, first on a farm on this side of Flagstaff, and later on a small terrace on the far side of the hill. With his long bushy beard, and with gum boots, which seemed large enough for a man twice his size, old, irascible Ben Rudd was a well-known and picturesque figure.
Ben Rudd, however, had an eye for a view, and from the site of his old stone hut is to be seen a delightful panorama of the Whare Flat district with its rolling hills and narrow valleys culminating in the Silver Peaks at the head of the Silverstream. Away in the distance is the Taieri Plain and the Maungatuas, and immediately opposite is Chalkies Hill, with its white sandstone cliffs. Behind this again, the horizon is ringed with the Lammerlaw and Rock and Pillar Ranges, golden in the summer’s sun, and glistening snow white in the winter.
In an interview with the club’s president (Mr H. Tilly), the Daily Times was informed of the future plans of this body of enthusiastic young men and women. The club intends to erect another hut on Ben Rudd’s old site. It will be used as a rendezvous for trampers coming from and going to more distant country. “If Dunedin receives its fair ration of snow this winter.” the president stated, “the place will form a base for those of our members who are skiers, and there are a number of them. On our own property, which cannot be ploughed up as other private property must periodically be ploughed up, members of the Tramping Club will have quite a good ski run, sheltered, sunny, and private.”
The president went on to say that the club considered this purchase of land as a step forward, which would materially help it to continue to build along sound lines. Tramping was a sport to be encouraged, and it was the club’s aim to make this property a highly prized asset for all citizens of Dunedin who were interested in tramping.” -Otago Daily Times, 13/6/1947.
OUR FIRST NORTHERN OUTLET
The History Of Flagstaff
For the Daily Times, by Anita Crozier (excerpt)
There are a few still with us who knew him well or had dealings with him, but from one who has known Flagstaff like the back of his hand for 70 years we have these sidelights on “Uncle Ben.” It was amazing to watch Ben at work on the stone walls he built quite extensively across the face of the hill. These were on the site of his first farm, and still, stand as a monument to his painstaking labour. He would lever a huge stone on to a sack tied about his waist, and, lifting it as in an apron, manoeuvre it into position. He was proud of these walls, and would warn boys not to poke sticks into them for boiling their billies, in case, as he said, they melted his stones! Ben had an absolute obsession about his property, and if lads trespassed so much as a yard on his territory he would follow them from the top of the hill right to the Town Belt to take their names for the police. It was nothing unusual for him to kick over a. picnic billy or to soak trampers with buckets of water, even when they were actually still on the public thoroughfare. And for even more serious attacks causing bodily harm he appeared before the magistrate on several occasions. A sister came out from the Old Country to visit him, and the gift of fancy china she brought was used to feed the chickens. Women he liked least of all. Yet in spite of his taciturn nature there were occasions when, if tactfully approached, Ben was more friendly, and he was known to invite a favoured few into his hut to share his berries and to see his rhubarb stalks, as thick as a man’s wrist. Sometimes on his way to the nearest store he might allow the children to shake hands with his horse, or show them how this affectionate animal would kiss him.
The Otago Tramping Club have put up a fine little hut on the site of Ben Rudd’s old home. Its windows command a lovely view of the Chalkies and Silver Peaks. -Otago Daily Times, 4/12/1950.
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