room 101 and the kindness of strangers

Humbly dedicated to New Zealand's greatest practical joker.

Some years ago I cycled through the McKenzie Country, approaching from the north through Burkes Pass.  I still recall making my way down beside the canal from Lake Takapo with a very strong wind coming in from my left, threatening at any minute to push me into the water.  After what seemed a long time the canal made a 90 degree turn to the right and suddenly I was riding hard and fast, reaching the top end of my top gear, registering a sustained 40-45kmh for the next half hour or so.

I spent the night at Twizel and made my way down the hydro canals to the top of Lake Benmore.  My plan was to reach the end of the canal system and made my way over the dewatered rivers to the Haldon Station area and taking a beautiful wooded valley that I'd read about to Benmore Dam.

Leaving my bike at the end of the canal I waded over the Ohau River and followed a 4wd track across the end of the Pukaki River.  It soon became clear that I'd have to carry everything over the loose shingle of the river bed and it wasn't going to happen.  So I spent the night where I was and returned up the canal road next day.

There are two hydro stations on that stretch of the canal - Ohau B and C.  Each is built to the same design, each has the same layout shown on the alarm board beside the entrance door.  Each board has a list of the rooms, naming them for their function or the equipment they hold.  Except for one.  

Each station has a small room, at basement level, under the car park.  Each of those rooms is named Room 101.  For those who don't know the meaning of "Room 101," it's from the George Orwell novel 1984, set in an ultra-stalinist regime where the Ministry of Love, the place you are interrogated and tortured, has a room where, having found what your innermost weakness is, you are finally broken. 

 

The Upper Waitaki Scheme was a project of the New Zealand Ministry of Works, a state-owned construction juggernaut (in NZ terms, at least) which swept all before it.  Own a farm where a dam is needed?  No problem for the MOW.  The government would pass a law and your farm is gone.  Want to grow apricots in a valley which needs to hold water for a dam?  No problem, your water rights are extinguished and your apricot trees are gone - except for one, in a rest area near the new stretch of highway.  The MOW built dams, canals, roads, bridges - and towns.  Twizel was a project workers' town, not meant to survive the Upper Waitaki Scheme's completion.  Yes, the Ministry of Works was an irresistible,  monolithic force (well, at least in NZ terms).  And someone played a joke on it. 

The commissioning date for Ohau B and C hydro stations sits in bronze below the Station name and the New Zealand coat of arms.  It overlooks the car park, under which is Room 101.

In mid 2009 I read a number of books of urban legends.  There's a common one featuring a truck taking heavy machinery under a bridge which, it is calculated, it will miss by a narrow margin.  Against all expectations, the top of the load clips the bridge and comes off.  The calculations hadn't included the expansion of air in the tyres of the heavy carrier.  My dad told me that story, setting it under the railway underpass at Alma, south of Oamaru.  As far as I know, it never happened.  The books got me thinking about "Room 101."  I had no photos of it.  Had I really seen it?  I wanted to be sure, I wanted photos.  

My opportunity came when one of the Cook Strait power cables was powered down for repairs.  One of the canals of the Upper Waitaki Scheme was going to be drained for inspection and possible repair of one of its gates.  That might be interesting to see, I thought, if I can get to it.  But more interesting would be the boards near the entrances of Ohau B and C Stations.  Or at least B.  Walking to them both from the highway near Twizel would be a long day.

For reasons which would take too long to go into here, I hitch wearing the uniform of an Imperial Russian Army General.  It certainly gets me noticed.  When asked some version or other of "Why the uniform?" - and if I think the driver can take it - I'll answer with some version of "Well, the people at the Clinic are very nice but they won't let me hitch naked any more."  

Not me.  But illustrative of the uniform I wear, though mine is more a bottle green in colour.

The uniform does work well for hitch-hiking.  Many people have picked me up simply to find out who I am.  Once I was picked up, in Winchester, South Canterbury after dark, by a driver who turned around to do so just to be sure that he'd seen what he thought he'd seen.  It was one of the most welcome meetings I've ever experienced.

I made my way to the north of Dunedin, the beginning of the Northern Motorway.  For the life of me, I can't recall who picked me up there and dropped me in Oamaru.  But I think it was a relatively fast ride there.

I was dropped off in the centre of Oamaru.  Anyone who has walked from the centre of Oamaru to its northern end on a warm day, wearing wool and carrying a pack will understand that, having done it once (or in my case plenty more than once) it can be a long walk.  So I broke my hitching rules and spent ten dollars on a taxi to the end of town.

Late morning found me at the north end of Oamaru.  I noticed a house truck stopping a couple of hundred metres to the south.  The passenger door opened and closed and I thought nothing more of it.  Then, approaching me, it indicated and stopped. The driver was retired teacher, Gail, who had stopped just earlier to chase a bee out of the cab.  Gail lived in her housebus and drove it between fishing spots.  As we drove up the valley we talked about my destination and the more we talked the more we realised that we were aiming for exactly the same place.  She was headed for the end of the canal road at the top of Lake Benmore.  She was kind enough to stop at the power company HQ but there was nobody there who knew about the history of Ohau B and C.  We arrived at the end of the road, built a campfire and talked until well after dark.

Ohau Canal.  The water shows the characteristic milky colour
from silt melted out of the glaciers at the head of Lake Pukaki.

Ohau C Station

Gail's home

The last of the sunlight on the hilltop 

Next day, Gail was keen to see the empty canal on the other side of Twizel so we headed back up the canal road.  There were a few men standing around Ohau C wearing hi-viz so we stopped.  "Does Room 101 actually exist?" I asked one of them.  It does, he told me.  It's a small concrete room with one steel door and no windows.  It was built for air conditioning equipment which was never installed.

Meeting of the Pukaki and Ohau Canals.

We drove past Twizel and then along the nearly empty canal, stopping at one of the gates to see the large trout in the remaining pool.  Then Gail dropped me off at Twizel  "Well," I said as we shook hands goodbye, "as they say in Canada, it's been a slice."

I had lunch in the Twizel shopping area - a very welcome hot pie, while I watched the people around me.  I bought some food at the local supermarket and got on the road again.  A short ride to Omarama was made with a guy who worked at the glider operation at the local airfield and owed his life to a glider-mounted parachute.  Not operated by him but by his dad before he was born.

A reasonably long wait at the edge of Omarama was made a little more interesting by the sight of a car approaching on the wrong side of the road.  I frantically waved them over as they passed.

From Omarama to Kurow I traveled with a driver and a truckload of frozen venison, heading from the Haast area to Christchurch.  Another perfect journey, dropping me off at the Kurow end of one of their old Waitaki bridges.  I stashed my gear under the bridge, where I'd slept the last time I'd cycled through and changed into light clothing.  I began my walk to Old Slip Road.

This road was built for access to Waitangi and Te Akatarawa Stations and others on the north side of the Waitaki River.  It was a continual maintenance nightmare, built across a gravel face which can be seen from the modern highway between Kurow and the Waitaki Dam.  The gravel face section was narrow, high and dangerous.  The 1930s Waitaki Dam project, the first hydro power project on the river, was planned to flood parts of the Old Slip Road and the local council were happy to see it closed and replaced by a steel bridge upriver of the dam - at central government expense.  The Waitangi Bridge is no longer there - removed for and replaced by the Aviemore Dam upriver from the Waitaki Dam, but was an impressive one in its day,  210 metres long with a central span of 70 metres which was a record for the country.

Flowering matagouri.

The last use of the Old Slip Road, before part of it was submerged, was to take gravel and cement to the relocated concrete mixer for the final work on the Waitaki Dam.  There was a suggestion in 2013 to use it for part of the Alps to Ocean cycle trail but that came to nothing.

It was an easy walk along gravel roads, edging closer to the Waitaki River.  Eventually the road started up the slope towards the slip-prone area of mountainside, the air made fragrant and sweet by the matagouri in flower - something I'd not seen before.  Approaching the slip area the first thing I noticed was a home-made sign, warning me off.  The second thing I noticed was the slip itself.  It seemed to have an animal track along the road line.  Would it handle the weight of a human?  Twice?  I made my way onto it.  And looked down.  The steep, loose gravel went all the way to the waters of the Waitaki River.  If the shingle gave way beneath me, I might just have enough time to text a farewell to someone before it was time to swim.  I stepped carefully back.

Sheep track across the slip face.

Looking down to the mighty Waitaki

Bridged portion of the road.  Maybe I'll try to get there next time.

Old Slip Road, photo held by the Kurow Museum.  I've read that passengers who were new to the road often preferred to walk behind the truck heading for Waitangi Station.

I spent some time resting, enjoying the view and taking photos.  Then I retraced my steps to the Kurow Bridge.  I filled my water bottle from the public tap.  I ate dinner and read until dark.  I used the last of the charge of my last replacement camera battery for some time exposure photos of cars crossing the bridge with their lights on.

Looking back from the Kurow Bridge

My third morning was another sunny one.  A highlight of waiting with my thumb out on the downriver side of Kurow was a passing tour bus.  A woman of a certain age, wearing nice clothes and heavy makeup, sat by the door with a microphone in her hand, explaining the passing scene to her passengers.  She passed the Russian General with jaw dropped.

It was an average waiting time for my first lift of the day, watching the personal movements of a small town beginning its day.  I was picked up by a welder who was taking a day off from - coincidentally - maintenance work on one of the Ohau power stations.  He explained how much work was required for hydro turbines, constantly patching the erosion caused by the phenomenon of cavitation.  Cavitation is what happens when flowing water drops to a low pressure and bubbles form.  When the pressure increases the bubbles implode, causing shock waves which stress and fatigue metal items such as propellors, pumps and generator turbines.  Every few months, I was told, a turbine needs to be stopped, drained and inspected for repairs.  All those "end of civilisation" scenarios where everything collapses but the electricity still flows for years were wrong, he said.  It's a matter of months at the most.  So be warned.

We reached Oamaru and I was dropped off at the south side of town.  It was a short wait for another entertaining encounter.  Two retired ladies who were returning from the national Scrabble champs - I think.  They were great conversation and so kind that they dropped me off outside my house.  

So  ended my search for Room 101.  The weather broke and it rained that night.  It still ranks as one of my better hitching experiences.

8/2733 Private Victor Manson Spencer, 1/11/1894-24/2/1918.

"NOT ENTITLED TO MEDALS - 6/10/20"

That's the first thing you see when you view the army records of Victor Manson Spencer.  Although he is commemorated on the war memorial at Bluff, his family would have kept a bitter secret about their lost boy.

Victor grew up in rural Otautau and was working as an engineer in the port town of Bluff when he volunteered for the war in 1915.  He wasn't a model of obedience as a soldier and was given seven days "FP" (Field Punishment) number two and forfeited 21 days' pay for being absent at roll call in June, 1916.  FP number 1 was usually being tied to a fixed object such as a fence of pole and was called "crucifixion."  Number two was being tied or fettered but still marching with one's unit.

He was wounded in the field the next month and had a few days in hospital before returning to the Otagos.  He must have done something serious shortly after that as he was struck off the Otagos' roll in September 1916 due to being sent to a military prison, Number One Military Prison, at Rouen.  He was sentenced to 18 months and served half of that before having the rest of the sentence suspended when he rejoined his unit on 15/6/1917, in time for the Battle of Paesschendaele.  You can only imagine what a military prison had to be like as a deterrent measure to make soldiers prefer facing the trenches and enemy shelling.

He was then recorded as absent from August 13th, 1917 to January 12th, 1918.  This was the desertion for which he was tried and shot.

His record goes on to show the bare bones of the story of his apprehension, trial and execution: "Was sentenced after trial by FGCM (Field General Court Martial) to be shot for deserting His Majesty's Service...Sentence was duly executed."  "Deserted HMS 13/8/17 until apprehended by Military Police on 2/2/18 - Guilty - to suffer death by being shot.  Sentence duly carried out."

He had only a brief wait for the formality of his sentence being confirmed by his ultimate commander, Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig.  For Haig, it would have been an easy decision to make.

He was shot at 6.40am, on February 24th, 1918.  He was the last of five New Zealanders who were shot for desertion.

Victor was one of the soldiers who were pardoned by the Great War Act of 2000.  The purpose of the Act was ‘to remove so far as practicable, the dishonour that the execution of those five soldiers brought to those soldiers and their families’.

New Zealand Prime Minister Helen Clark said, during the ceremony for the presentation of medals and documents of military service to the families of the pardoned soldiers:  "Military discipline of the day could only recognise dissent or shell shock as the offences of mutiny or desertion, punishable by death by firing squad. In today's ceremony we honour the memory of these three soldiers who volunteered to serve their country.

"Now we can remember their service and sacrifice with pride and sorrow whenever New Zealand commemorates those who died in war, and in the service of peace," 

Section 8 of the Pardon for Soldiers of the Great War Act reads thus:

Pardon of Private Spencer

Private Victor Manson Spencer, regimental number 8/2733, a member of the 1st Battalion, Otago Regiment,—

(a) who was charged with having committed on 13 August 1917 the offence of desertion; and

(b) who was, by a Field General Court Martial held on 17 January 1918, convicted of that offence and sentenced to death; and

(c) who was again sentenced to death on 29 January 1918 after the Field General Court Martial had revised its finding and had convicted him of having committed the offence of desertion not on 13 August 1917 but on 25 August 1917; and

(d) who was, after the sentence of death imposed on him on 29 January 1918 had been confirmed, executed by firing squad in accordance with that sentence on 24 February 1918,—

is, by this Act, granted a pardon for that offence of desertion

Honour the 600! 1060 Sergeant Major John Bevin of the 8th Hussars, 1831-11/5/1892.

John Bevin, Southern Cemetery, Dunedin.  Photo, Allan Steel.

An interesting article appears in the Nineteenth Century for May, written by one who took part in the Balaclava charge, and who tells the following story of the late Sergeant-major Bevin, of the Otago police: — "A strange thing happened this afternoon. Private John Bevin, of the 8th Hussars, had been having his wounds dressed. A Russian cavalryman, who was lying on the opposite side of the hut, and who had two desperate sword cuts on the head, and three fingers off, had been looking hard at Bevin for some time. At last he got up and crossed the floor, and made Bevin understand that it was he who had cut the Russian about so severely. Bevin cheerfully owned to the charge, and pointing to the fragment left of his own right ear, gave the Russian to understand that it was he who had played the part of St. Peter, whereupon the two fraternised, and Bevin had to resort to much artifice to escape being kissed by the battered Muscovite.  -Oamaru Mail, 24/8/92.

John Bevin was a long way from the Crimea when he dropped into a fatal diabetic coma in May of 1892.  He was also a long way from County Cork, back in Ireland, where he was born in 1831.  He was a carpenter's apprentice when he joined the 8th Royal Hussars - the "King's Own" in 1849.  In 1854 he sailed with his Regiment to Bulgaria, to fight the Russians.

8th "King's Own" Hussars uniform

From there he went to the Crimean Peninsula, was present at the Battle Of Alma - an infantry battle - and charged in the Light Brigade attack on the Russian guns at Balaclava.  He was taken prisoner after the charge and eventually exchanged for Russian prisoners held by the British.  In all, he was wounded 18 times during the war - none of them seriously though he carried a slit on his ear to the end of his days.

When the 8th Hussars were put on a peacetime basis they reduced their numbers and Bevin was discharged.  He declined an offer of ten pounds from a fellow Trooper who wanted to change places with him and went to Victoria, where the gold rush had begun. In Victoria, he joined the goldfield police and was recruited for the Otago Armed Constabulary by its organiser and first commander, St John Branigan, arriving in Dunedin in 1861.  One of his duties as one of "Branigan's Troopers" in those early years of the Rush included the escorting of the gold convoy through Central Otago to the bank at Dunedin.

Constable Bevin quickly showed his competence and was promoted to Sergeant Major after a year in Otago.  He was awarded two pounds from the "Police Reward Fund" in 1869 for the "zeal and perseverance" shown with another constable in the detection and arrest of a pair of forgers.  He was awarded the Police Long Service Medal in 1887.  He was popular with Dunedin's citizens, from the Judges on the Bench to those they judged - ...his fairmindedness softened even the natural antipathy of the criminal classes to a police officer into a reluctant admiration. - 14/5/1892 Otago Daily Times.

He was also awarded a unique distinction in 1882 by some of Dunedin's citizens.  The Evening Star reported: The Mayor said that he was unexpectedly called upon to make the presentation, and was unprepared to do so. The duty he had now to perform was more pleasing than anything that had fallen to his lot during his ten months in office, and he had much pleasure in being requested to take part in tho ceremony. He referred in glowing terms to the pluck shown in the Crimea by the British soldiers, and said that if again called on Sergeant-major Bevin would be equal to the occasion. In future historical records this encounter would stand out pre-eminent. The presentation, which consisted of a very handsome silver cup, would bear this inscription; "A tribute of respect and esteem to Sergeant-major Bevin from many Dunedin friends, to remind him of the twenty-eighth anniversary of the Light Brigade's charge at Balaclava." And on the reverse side: "At present in the Otago Constabulary, and late of the 8th Royal Irish Hussars." He had also much pleasure in presenting a silver negligee and locket to Mrs Bevin.  In conclusion he expressed the hope that Sergeant-major Bevin would be long spared to keep his present position in this community. — (Applause). Sergeant-major Bevin said that the presentation was quite unexpected on his part. It was only two or three days ago that Mr Graham called on him with reference to the matter. It was contrary to the service regulations for an officer to be permitted to receive a gift, but Inspector Weldon kindly acceded permission. The speaker then made a long statement as to the service his corps performed in this war. He defended the Earl of Cardigan from aspersions which had been cast on his character, and said that that gentleman was in no way to blame for the charge. The men had simply done their duty, and those who had survived would be equally pleased with himself at the forethought and kindness of the people of Dunedin as manifested on the present occasion.

1882 cup, Collection of Toitu Otago Settlers Museum

An interesting example of John Bevin's experience as a policeman comes from the "Otago Witness" of 1889: At the City Police Court on Monday morning an elderly man of seedy appearance was charged with drunkenness. He presented himself in court with a bundle of second-hand books in a strap under his arm, and appeared to be a travelling bookseller. He was somewhat voluble of speech; and bore on his countenance the unmistakable signs of long dissipation. On being asked how he would plead he said, "I am guilty, but under most peculiar circumstances." The Bench naturally desired to hear all about the matter. Then, in a tone which he evidently meant to be pathetic the victim of circumstances related his griefs. He had lost a nephew he said, by some disaster on board an American man-of-war, and he felt sad at heart. He had, indeed, been very sad for a long time, and consequently took a "little drop," but a small quantity of drink had a terrible effect upon him. He then asked the bench to be lenient with him as he had a large family, and had to work hard to keep them. Here his emotion, apparently overcame him, as he drew forth his handkerchief and wiped away his tears.  Sergeant major Bevin, who had come into contact with the accused in an official capacity on a number of previous occasions, informed the bench that whenever the accused came before the court his plea was that a death, or a birthday, or something of that sort had proved too much for him. This caused accused to plead with the Sergeant major not to be too hard upon him. "You military men," he said, "are always hard, whether in peace or in war." The Bench inflicted a fine of 10s, with the usual alternative. The disconsolate one asked for time to pay, and this being conceded he bowed and respectfully thanked the bench. As he left the court a gleam of satisfaction at his "success" was discernible on his rather dirt-begrimed visage.

The Rev. Thomas Burns Memorial, the Octagon, Dunedin.  Hocken Library photo.

                                  

Sergeant Major John Bevin's last appearance on duty, after nearly 31 years' service, was at the handing over of the Reverend Thomas Burns memorial in the Octagon, Dunedin.  No one who saw him there would have thought he had little time left on earth.

63324 Private Michael Flannery, 11/9/1888-23/2/1918.

From an account of the send-offs for local men from the Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette: "The next was the send-off of Michael Flannery, a favourite of the district. There was a very large gathering and an enjoyable evening was spent in song and dance. During an interlude the opportunity was taken to present Mick with a very handsome purse of £l2 odd, in which Mr Kant acted as the speaking man. This makes the third son out of this family, the only remaining son failing to pass."

Mick Flannery's send-off was the sequel to an appeal made to the Military Service Board, sitting at Alexandra in May 1917, in which he claimed that his job as manager of the family farm and other properties at Poolburn - comprising 4740 acres in all - was a vital one to the country.  His father stated that he was under doctor's orders not to spend the coming winter on the farm.  Two of his four sons were already gone to the war.  His appeal was dismissed but his enlistment deferred.  Mick was able to plant his wheat before leaving for the War.

Flannery family grave, Omakau Cemetery.

Mick left New Zealand that November and was marched into the Otago Infantry Regiment's 4th Reserve Battalion at Sling Camp, Salisbury Plain, on January 9th, 1918.

On February 2nd, Mick was admitted to Tidworth Hospital with a diagnosis of rubella, or german measles.  A week later he was listed as "seriously ill" then two days later "dangerously ill."  On the 23rd just after 4am he died in the isolation ward, of scarlet fever and bronchial pneumonia.  Was there a misdiagnosis in the case of Private Michael Flannery?  And, with the lack of anti-biotics for treatment, would it have mattered?  At least they got his religion right, the Rev. W Skinner RC is recorded as conducting Mick's burial service.

Sir John McKenzie - the forgotten memorial

On top of a hill not far from Palmerston can be found the remains of a memorial erected to the memory of the late Sir John Mckenzie.

Remains?  you might say - I thought that had been restored.  And you would be correct.  The Mckenzie memorial that is visible from  Palmerston was restored a few years ago.  But I'm talking about the previous one.

John McKenzie, while Minister of Lands, was responsible for breaking up the huge squatter estates which had been established in the early years of colonial New Zealand.  He put men on the land - an estimated seven thousand farming families - laying one of the foundations for New Zealand's frozen meat trade.  

He had grown up in Scotland and one of his earliest memories was seeing the inhabitants of Glen Calvie, huddled around small fires on a rainy Saturday, in the grounds of Croick Church but too proud to enter the building itself which would be disrespectful.  These were victims of the Highland Clearances, some of the last to be dispossessed of lands they did not own by a Chieftan they trusted to lead and care for them.  The messages that some of them scratched in the diamond-shaped panes of the church's windows can still be seen.  He never forgot the sight and strove to make New Zealand a place where a working man could own his own land.  Some of the large landholdings he had broken up, however, were portions of Maori tribal land, and he has been criticised for doing to the Maori what the Clearances had done to the Scots.  All that can be said in his defence is that the tribe of capitalists called "land sharks" were much more rapacious and less trustworthy.

Sir John McKenzie, in younger years. Hocken Library photo.

He was knighted by the Governor General shortly before his death from stomach cancer in 1901.  Immediately after his funeral, which was a remarkable performance of Scottish tradition - real or imagined - there was talk of errecting an impressive memorial to him, on top of Puketapu Hill, where McKenzie had first shepherded sheep for Johnny Jones and where the current memorial stands.  The Memorial Committee eventually decided on a different location - Pukehiwitahi, a hill named for one of the crewmen of the ancestral waka, Arai te uru.  It also overlooked McKenzies house where lived, was knighted, and died.

So it was upon that hill, atop the conical peak immediately to your left when you drive over the low rise just south of Shag Point, that the Premier, Richard Seddon, and a crowd of the great and the not so great, gathered in November of 1902.  The speechifying commenced and the politicians of those days did like to speechify.  I will attempt to convey the sentiment without imitating the length of those speeches.

Richard Seddon, Premier of New Zealand, arrives at the top of the hill.  I have a feeling he took the horsedrawn option for the 200m or so climb.  Hocken Library photo.

Richard Seddon unveils the memorial's inscription tablet.  Hocken Library photo.

The Sir John McKenzie Cairn in all its pre-1917 glory.  Hocken Library photo. 

Grave of Sir John McKenzie

Alfred Lee Smith, Member of the Legislative Council and president of the gathering began the speaking, the end of which was greeted with great applause:

"What an example does his life present to the youthful political aspirant. Step by step he won his way. His determination, his exhaustless energy, and an incomparable zeal for the cause he had espoused carried him rapidly to the goal he had in view. Difficulties were swept aside, opposition was quelled by the irresistlble force of success. Withal, notwithstanding his forceful action in public life, how gentle, forbearing, and sympathetic a man he was in private. Those who had the privilege of intimacy in his home must have noticed how much he conduced, to the completeness of hie domestic felicity. Our thoughts and sympathy will go out to that widowed lady and her fatherless family who shared with him the anxieties of his strenuous life, for there has gone from them a kind and loving husband, an affectionate parent, and a wise counsellor. May they find some consolation in the reflection that he had served his country with his best powers, And there are others who, though unconnected with him by ties of kinship, have good reason to remember and esteem the name of John M'Kenzie. The homesteads of the settlers planted on the soil by his efforts will ever be monuments to the wisdom and forethought of our great land reformer. Let history, in impartial tone, do him and his policy justice, and then there shall be no need for the indulgent criticisms of posterity. Long may this massive pile of rough-hewn stone—typical of the sturdy and vigorous-minded man to whose memory it is erected—survive the storms and stress of time, and be a shrine at which the youth of generations to come may learn the lesson of a nobly industrious life, and for centuries be a beacon to signalise that here was the home of a man who bestowed upon New Zealand's public life the priceless gifts of unsullied honour, true patriotism, and transcendent ability."

The Chairman of the Memorial Committee, the Honourable J Rigg then recounted to those assembled the details of the steps which had culminated in the gathering at the top of the hill.

The Premier, Richard Seddon followed with a half hour speech which recounted the life and career of his late friend, before unveiling the tablet on the cairn which detailed the life of the late Sir John and is a copy of those details on his gravestone in Palmerston Cemetery.  The McKenzie family were then presented with a handsomely bound copy of the Committee report and a minute's silence was observed by all present before the assembly dispersed.

Sad to say, the "massive pile of rough-hewn stone" collapsed one night, fifteen years later.  It was little reported, possibly due to more important happenings in Europe in that year of 1917.  Some locals say the memorial was undermined by rabbits.

The current memorial, seen from near the old one

Remains of the Cairn - south side

Remains of the Cairn - north side

45507 Rifleman William Harley, 1893-18/2/1918.

Report of the departure for camp of the Dunedin contingent of the 25th Reinforcements for the New Zealand Expeditionary Force:

"Before leaving the Drill Hall Colonel Smith addressed a few words of advice to men as to their work and conduct in camp and on active service. He besought them to attend diligently to their drill and their musketry. He spoke honestly, he said, when he stated that they were physically as fit a draft as any that had gone before. "He would like to see them beat all records at Trentham for shooting. Another thing he asked them to do was to write home to their relatives. 

''Boys," concluded Colonel Smith, "I would ask you to live straight, go straight, and shoot straight. As General Birdwood said, 'the only good Germans were the dead ones' Go, therefore, and create as many good Germans us possible. Good-bye, boys God-speed, and a safe return to your friends." 

The Mayor (Mr J. J. Clark) added a few words of appreciation on behalf of the citizens of Dunedin. At the beginning of the war, he said, there were some who had thought that colonial soldiers would be good for only garrison duty, or something of the sort. History had proved otherwise. They who were going knew what they were up against, and he was sure they would do just as good work as their glorious comrades had done at Gallipoli and in France, and would bring further honour to New Zealand. He wished them God-speed and success. At the call of one of their number the men gave three hearty cheers for Colonel Smith, and three for the Mayor. A few men returning to camp from leave also left by the train."

William Harley was the fifth son of William and Tamar Harley of 27 Jackson St, St Kilda, Dunedin.  He grew up in a working class area of town and worked as a clerk.  He joined the Army in January of 1917 and shipped out to Europe that July.  He spent a few days in hospital with some sickness or other from the sixth to the ninth of February and then rejoined his unit, the 3rd Battalion of the New Zealand Rifle Brigade.

The Brigade's Official History say this about the time and place of William's death - I have not found anything more specific: This was a good sector, the driest and quietest occupied by our Brigade since June of the previous year. The defensive works, however, had not reached a satisfactory stage of advancement. Particularly was this so on the left, where the 3rd Battalion's front line, 1,000 yards in length, consisted only of a series of detached posts. Taking advantage of the fine weather then prevailing, a special effort was put forth by both the forward units to bring about the desired improvement. Excellent results followed. The 4th Battalion brought to completion the works that had been suitably laid out but not developed. Within a week the 3rd Battalion had dug 1,000 yards of now trench along its front, together with the necessary communication saps, had erected 500 yards of wiring and 700 yards of revetting, and had laid over 700 yards of duck- walk. But the 3rd Battalion were not content with this achievement. Sergeant J. W. Clayson with his patrol had been reconnoitering No Man's Land during daylight, and had succeeded in marking down the whole of the enemy's posts opposite the battalion front. On the information so gained a peaceful advance was planned, and in one night the battalion established four posts from 300 to 450 yards beyond its new front line, wired and garrisoned them, and linked them up with a continuous belt of wire entanglements.

The Rifles were relieved by units of the west Yorkshire Regiment on the 23rd of February.  William had died five days before.  A sniper?  Maybe.  Perhaps nobody now knows.

PAGE 265

Anderson Bay Cemetery, Dunedin. DCC photo.

Samuel Saltzman, OBE 1881-22/6/1963.

The 1990s were a wild time...it was the time I ran for Mayor of Dunedin.  Although not done entirely seriously, it was a real education for me.  It was also a whole lot of fun.  In an era when Winston Peters ran on a platform of "a vote for me is a vote to kick National out of power" - then helped them form a government, and when Jenny Shipley proclaimed herself the first NZ female Prime Minister - and declined to ask the people for a mandate to rule, I could claim to be the only honest politician in the country.  But enough about me...

At the campaign launch a woman approached me and said that, if I promised to raise a memorial to Samuel Saltzman, I would have her vote.  I was more than happy to make that promise.  But who was Samuel Saltzman?

Samuel was a tailor.  He was a Polish Jew, born in Kurow (not the one in the Waitaki Valley) in 1881, and apprenticed to a tailor at the age of thirteen.  It was a hard life in small-town Poland and Samuel decided to make the move to Warsaw, about 250km away.  Things weren't much better in the city and he and a friend decided to try their luck in Britain.  Arriving in London almost broke they followed a man carrying half-finished clothes through the streets to a tailoring business.  Their hunch paid off and they were employed by the tailor for whose business the clothes were bound.

Conditions were still hard for Samuel but he was able to save a little money and head to the New World.  He arrived in Canada and made his way to the US, working and travelling south until he found himself in New York.  There he specialised in ladies' tailoring.  Finding that work had become seasonal, he began to use his off-season time in travelling.  Eventually he found himself in California and from there, having read a newspaper story extolling the virtues of the colony of New Zealand, he sailed for Wellington.  His skills saw him employed within a couple of hours of landing.

He eventually went into business for himself as a ladies' tailor first in Christchurch and then Greymouth.  His 1910 advertisement in the Greymouth Evening Star stated that: "As a practical LADIES TAILOR and CUTTER (he) has opened a Ladies' Tailoring establishment in Greymouth, and being in close touch with the latest PARISIAN FASHIONS, and carrying stocks of the newest designs of Cloths, Worsteds and Serges in all shades will be in a position to supply garments of elegance and taste and of the choicest fabric, and bearing that touch of refinement which so much conduces to grace and attractiveness. S. SALTZMAN makes a close study of each client, and with his long experience as a SPECIALIST, is able to suggest just the shade of fabric required and to impart that delicacy in CUTTING which produces a garment of artistic beauty."

In February 1917 Samuel closed up and moved to Dunedin, setting up shop in George Street.  He prospered and began writing cheques for worthy causes, both local and not so local.  Here is a list of them:

October, 1935.  1000 pounds for the Grey Hospital Board for a TB block.  "During his residence in Greymouth, he says that he received all the hospitality and support one desired from citizens and he considered it a duty and a privilege to be able to express his appreciation of such support in some tangible way."

October, 1935.  1000 pounds to the Dunedin Hospital Board for instruments to be used in the eye, ear and throat theatre.

March, 1936.  1000 pounds to the Dunedin Methodist Central Mission for the children's health camp at Company Bay.

May, 1936.  1500 pounds to the Waitaki Hospital Board for an open air children's ward - eight beds, a playroom and solarium.

May, 1936.  3000 pounds to the Waipiata TB Sanatorium for the erection of an administration block.  "...Mr Saltzman is making the money available at once. Mr Saltzman is a most public-spirited citizen, for other institutions have recently received substantial gifts from him.”

Waipiata Sanatorium.

October, 1936.  6500 pounds to the St Johns Ambulance, to build their headquarters at the base of York Place.

May, 1937.  3000 pounds to the South Otago Hospital Board for a TB block.

November 1937.  275 pounds to the Dunedin Hospital for further equipment at the eye, ear, nose and throat theatre.

April, 1939.  7 pounds, 7 shillings to the NZ Scottish Regiment (Otago Unit) equipment fund.

June, 1939.  10 pounds, 10 shillings to the Sir Truby King Memorial Fund.

November, 1939.  25 pounds to the Dunedin Centennial Appeal.

March, 1940.  1200 pounds to the Dunedin Jewish Congregation for the purchase of a residence for the minister.

March, 1940.  1000 pounds to the War Expenses Fund.  (Interest-free loan for the duration plus 12 months.

March, 1940.  500 pounds to the Otago Provincial Patriotic Council for soldiers' welfare.   "As a citizen of the British Empire I deem it my duty to help at least in a monetary way those young and valiant men who arc willing to sacrifice their lives for their country's cause.  I therefore enclose a cheque for £500 for the patriotic fund which may be disposed of in whatever direction you may consider necessary. I may also say that, should any occasion arise when my help is required, I shall deem it my duty to assist in whatever way possible." - S Saltzman, letter to the Council.

November 1940.  100 pounds to the London Relief Fund

As well as his more official donations, Samuel aided many of Dunedin's poor during the Great Depression of the 1930s with donations of blankets, food and coal.  He was made an Officer of the Order of the British Empire in 1939 ("For benefactions to humanitarian institutions in the Dominion of New Zealand.") and in an interview of that year for the Otago Daily Times said: "When I sat at my easy chair beside the fire in the winter time in those years, I could not enjoy my own fire. I had to do something so that others could share that comfort.”

Samuel retired from business in 1946 and lived in the Leviathan Hotel until his death, hit by a car outside the Otago Medical School in Great King Street, Dunedin, in 1963.  He died of shock and concussion at the age of 82.

“I have only served in the way it has been possible for me to help.  While money may satisfy the physical needs and the individual comforts it will not give happiness unless it is judiciously applied. It seems to be part of a great immutable law that help given to others invariably brings happiness to the giver.” - Samuel Saltzman.

St John Ambulance Building, Dunedin.

PS:  According to his obituary, the friend with whom Samuel Saltzman sailed to London also went on the the United States and became a millionaire film-maker in California. Born in Poland as Schmuel Gelbfisz, later calling himself Samuel Goldfish and then Goldwyn.