Rangatira

  Wharepapa told us all this, and he also told our landlady, Mrs Johnson, and her friend, Mrs Strong. We were drinking tea together in the parlour, and Reihana was there as well. He’d been talking for some time that afternoon about the death of his son, and the ladies seemed very sympathetic, though I noticed that for every fifty words Reihana said in Maori, Wharepapa told the ladies only five in English, so they were not hearing very much of his sad tale. When Reihana finally stopped talking, closing his eyes to reflect upon his grief, Wharepapa began speaking of Jenkins. The ladies had quite a lot to say now.

  ‘Mrs Johnson says it is wickedness,’ Wharepapa told me, ‘to keep us here against our will, far from home. Mrs Strong says that this is not Christian. We should not be monkeys, dressed in a costume.’

  Wharepapa said that the ladies wanted to know what I thought. I didn’t know what to say. The fire crackled and spat, and although the heavy curtains were drawn back, the window admitted no light. It was still the afternoon, but the days had grown indistinguishable from night. I wanted to say that we needed to travel far, far to the south, to see light again during the day, and the stars at night.

  Whenever I couldn’t sleep, and sat looking out my window, the sky was choked with cloud or smoke. All I could see was a drunkard or two staggering home, or the night-soil men lugging their pails from the courts. Sometimes they poured the contents onto their carts, and other times they dumped dark heaps on the road and salted it all with lime. I wondered how many of these carts moved around the city at night, and how many men were needed to carry away the excrement and ash of such a place.

  These were not subjects you can discuss with English ladies. I have no recollection of what I said that afternoon. What I do remember is that before long Wharepapa too refused to wear a cloak at any of our meetings, and that Jenkins’ face showed us that he was most irritated by this, though he said nothing.

  Reihana now felt more confident about his protests – or perhaps now that Wharepapa had joined him, Reihana needed to stand out in some other way. The missionaries used to tell us that it was not enough to be a Christian. We must call out to others with the message, to make them see the evil of their ways. Reihana was determined to do this. The missionaries would have been proud of him, though I must confess to finding it tiresome.

  We were at a meeting where several hundred people were present. In my memory it was a cold chapel with plain windows, where people stood against the walls and filled all the pews, but that could describe any number of meetings we attended in Birmingham. Reihana was in a fury. He’d confronted Jenkins that afternoon when we were collected from Mrs Johnson’s house.

  ‘There is much wrongdoing going on,’ Reihana told Jenkins. He wouldn’t even get up from his seat at the table. Mrs Johnson stood holding his coat, looking at us all in some agitation, for fear we’d be late arriving at the meeting.

  ‘We can talk of this later,’ Jenkins said sharply. He was looking exhausted in those days, worn out with the endless meetings, and the bleak weather, and our shenanigans, I suppose. The letters sent to the great men of Birmingham, attacking him – these preyed on him, too. By now he was talking of them openly, not just behind his hand to Mr Lightband. Jenkins felt them to be unjust and some days he spoke very bitterly. He would not only lose all his money in England, he said, he would lose his good name.

  Reihana cared nothing for Jenkins’ troubles.

  ‘Later you will disappear off for supper,’ he went on. ‘Or you will go to visit one of your minister friends, and nothing will be said.’ This was quite true. Jenkins never lodged with us, and the only time we could be sure to find him at his own lodgings for a korero was on a Sunday afternoon, when he wrote his letters and answered invitations.

  ‘Then say what you have to say now, but say it quickly.’

  Reihana was always telling me and Wharepapa that he was a quiet man who hated to quarrel, and that he thought for a long, long time before saying anything. I don’t know about that. But certainly, he never said anything quickly.

  ‘Many times I have had great sadness,’ he began. ‘Many times I think of all the falseness among us, and the wrongdoing, and I feel this sadness.’

  ‘What wrongdoing?’ Jenkins snapped. I wondered if I should sit down again, because I was very tired, and the cloak I was carrying was heavy.

  ‘We all know that three of our group are acting in an improper manner,’ said Reihana, his face mournful. ‘We have spoken of this before, in Bristol. Yet still you permit those who do wrong to stand up in churches and speak.’

  ‘You talk of Hapimana, I assume.’

  ‘Friend, it is not just Hapimana, though he does much wrong, on almost every night of the week. My heart is filled with sadness thinking of his deeds. There are the deeds of Takarei as well, and the deeds of Horomona Te Atua.’

  Jenkins gave a long sigh, and Mrs Johnson asked a worried question. She no doubt thought that Reihana was unwell, or perhaps unhappy with the mutton and potatoes she’d served at dinnertime.

  ‘This is true,’ Wharepapa said, nodding in a slow, solemn way. Of course it was true. Since Wiremu Pou had left us to join the Maori Warrior Chiefs, and Hare Pomare moved to Mrs Colenso’s house, Horomona Te Atua was sad and often lonely. He was lodging with Hapimana and Takarei, and would not always wish to sit at home while the others ventured out to taverns and music halls. If Jenkins wanted to watch them, or prevent them from going out, he or Mr Lightband or Mr Lloyd should have shared their lodgings. And why would the Pakeha imagine that we Maori would only see the greatness of England, and wish to sample nothing else?

  ‘Even Paratene,’ Reihana said, speaking of me but not looking at me, ‘has succumbed to the temptation of drink. We are all sinking low in this place.’

  I felt myself bristling with anger, my face hot as though I had pushed it too close to the fire. On one occasion in a Limehouse public house I may have had one or two drinks too many, and on just one night in Birmingham, when we were entertained by Mrs Johnson’s neighbour, a gentleman who worked in a brewery, I may have drunk a little more than was good for me. I was not alone that night. Wharepapa sat by my side, jabbering away half in English and half in Maori, and toasting the health of the Queen many, many times.

  ‘I know all this,’ said Jenkins. ‘What is your point?’

  ‘It’s wrong to take these men to meetings, especially to Christian places of worship, when they act in this manner against Christian morals.’

  ‘Do you say we should tell Paratene to stay at home tonight?’

  ‘Not Paratene,’ Reihana said, as though he were bestowing a great favour upon me. I wished I was holding a patu in my hand, so I could knock Reihana about the ears. I was very, very glad that Mrs Johnson couldn’t understand what he was saying, though I think she must have had some idea of our merry evening in her neighbour’s house. She opened the door to us afterwards, and smiled when Wharepapa stumbled into the umbrella stand. ‘But the other three are bad week after week, and they should not talk at our meetings.’

  ‘What if someone asks a question of one of them? Are we to say that they are not permitted to speak?’

  ‘Yes. We will tell the people of Birmingham why, so these three sinners are humbled.’

  ‘We will do no such thing.’ Jenkins was angry now. ‘I will not stop anyone from addressing a meeting, and I won’t speak of any of these accusations. Can’t you see what harm it would do? People would think ill of your Maori party. Our enemies would say that this trip to England was wrong.’

  ‘You speak of enemies,’ Reihana said, ‘but you don’t understand that our most dangerous enemy is the Devil, and he has captured these three young men, and led them into wicked ways.’

  I think it was Wharepapa who brought an end to this conversation, reminding us that the time was late. The longer this talk went on, the more likely his own sins would be raised by Reihana, though I’m sure Reihana had no idea of half of what Wharepapa got up to.

  Reihana came to the mee
ting that night, but he was still seething. After all the usual preliminaries of introductions and Jenkins’ speech, it was our turn to talk. Horomona Te Atua stood, and spoke for a while about the great kindness of the English people, and how we had learned so much during our visit here. I can’t remember what he said, really, or why it seemed to annoy Reihana so. Perhaps it was simply that he was speaking, when Reihana wanted him to be humbled and not permitted to speak.

  As soon as Horomona moved to take a seat again, Reihana stood up, his face very severe. But Jenkins said to let me speak next, and Reihana sat down, clearly vexed. I spoke in his place, though I was uneasy about what had just occurred, and fearful that Reihana would be even more angry now.

  By the time three or four of us had spoken, Reihana had disappeared into a small room to the side of the platform. Later he said that he was cold, and went into the room to warm up. Hapimana told him he’d be warmer if he wore a cloak, but Reihana was in no mood for such jokes.

  We’d sung something, and then the younger men arrayed themselves at the front of the platform and began the haka. I pulled my chair back to keep out of the way, and from that place I could see Reihana. He was standing in the doorway to the small room, arguing with Jenkins.

  ‘They must stop,’ he told Jenkins. ‘They are godless men performing this godless thing, here in the house of God!’

  Jenkins held up a hand, and I thought he was going to push Reihana back into the room.

  ‘You stay there,’ he said, and he said some other things, but I could not hear them over the roar and thumping of the haka. Whatever he said did no good, for Reihana slid past him and charged onto the platform.

  ‘This haka is no good!’ he screeched at the crowd, pushing between Hapimana and Takarei. They both looked startled, but kept going, shouting even louder to drown out Reihana’s voice. ‘This is a wicked thing! It is sinful!’

  He swung his arms in the air in a wild way, smacking Horomona in the arm. Still the haka went on. Reihana was shouting in Maori, so of course no one sitting in the pews could understand him. They probably thought it was all part of the haka: the young men were to shout, and leap about, and widen their eyes, while the old man walked among them, shouting his heathen encouragement. Jenkins did nothing to dispel this idea. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded and his lips set tight.

  ‘This is some business,’ Wharepapa murmured to me, but he did not move from his spot either. What was to be done? Reihana was still ranting when the haka finished, but the audience was applauding, drowning him out even more. Perhaps they thought he was drunk, or not right in the head.

  Outside in the street, waiting for cabs to take us home, Reihana was still talking.

  ‘I will tell Mrs Johnson everything about the sin among us,’ he said to Jenkins. ‘I want no part of your secrets and deceit.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Jenkins said, sounding utterly fatigued. I don’t know how Reihana was planning to say so much to Mrs Johnson. The only English words I’d heard him say to her were ‘good’ and ‘bacon’.

  ‘And I will travel to London to see Mr Ridgway, to tell him my opinion of things. I will speak to him of our unhappiness here, and say how we are brought low, to wickedness.’

  This had more of an effect, as Reihana no doubt intended.

  ‘Go,’ Jenkins said, and there was much contempt in his voice. ‘You’re no good to us here. Your opinion means nothing to me. You can say whatever you like to Ridgway, and it will leave no mark on me. The only people harmed are the ones who leave me, not the ones who stay.’

  ‘You harm us all with your lies,’ Reihana told him. It was raining now, and the rain had teeth, biting our faces. Everyone huddled around, miserable and cold, listening to Reihana and Jenkins. ‘Where is the one pound five shillings you promised to pay them? This was an agreement made in London, but you don’t honour it. You are not a truthful man.’

  Jenkins didn’t reply. He turned away from us all, and walked a few steps down the street. I wondered if he was leaving us, abandoning us here on the street in Birmingham because we were all too much trouble. I can’t remember if Mr Lloyd and Mr Lightband were there that night. I only remember Jenkins.

  He didn’t leave us. When the cabs rolled up, he gave our addresses to the drivers. Despite his big words that night, Reihana didn’t say anything to Mrs Johnson. Wharepapa did. And Reihana didn’t go to London. Jenkins did. Mr Lightband told us that Jenkins was tired of the letters addressed to the Mayor of Birmingham, saying that Jenkins was a showman and an adventurer who didn’t look after us. These letters were from Mr Ridgway and a doctor who was something to do with the Aborigines’ Protection Society. Jenkins travelled down to London to confront both men. When he returned, we did not ask many questions. I was tired of all the quarrels.

  I remember that when Jenkins returned it was December, and the cold was very sharp. Kihirini travelled up to join us, which was a mistake. He went straight to bed at his lodgings. He needed to sit in the warm pools of Bath, not shiver with the rest of us in Birmingham. None of us were particularly pleased to see him, especially as we were all quite ill ourselves by this time.

  He was not the only Maori arrival in the city, for the Maori Warrior Chiefs troupe turned up next. Mrs Johnson waved the newspaper at us, in much excitement at the notion of two Maori groups at large in Birmingham. They would be performing at Holders Concert Rooms before moving on to Coventry. This time Horomona and I did not go to see his brother, Wiremu Pou – or, at least, if he went he did not mention it to me. I did not have the spirit for such adventures, for every time I stepped outside, the cold felt like a tight band around my chest.

  There was news from London that Pomare’s baby had been christened in Tottenham, with stories in all the newspapers talking of the Queen’s lavish christening gift, and this made Ngahuia even more discontent. Mrs Colenso had sent a letter, and we all read it. Hare and Hariata had been invited to see the Queen again, this time in Windsor, and would travel there with Mrs Colenso. They were looking forward to seeing the little princesses again.

  ‘Why should they see the princesses again?’ Ngahuia demanded, more petulant than ever now her nose was red raw, and she had to walk everywhere with a handkerchief clamped to her face. ‘And Mrs Colenso says that more photos of Hare and Hariata will be taken, and more of these visiting cards will be made.’

  ‘They’re going to be in another painting as well,’ Hapimana reminded her. He was not friendly with Ngahuia, especially since she accused him of mistreating poor Haumu, and he liked to see her unsettled and annoyed. Mrs Colenso had told us that another artist had approached Hare Pomare, and the painting he would make would show Hare, Hariata and the great Patuone, matua to Pomare. For the picture of Patuone, the artist would rely on a photograph, as the Bohemian often does.

  I didn’t care what was going on in London. I was beginning to feel like a trapped bird, waking up every morning to see the same things from my window, or to see very little, because of the fog and the smoke. Even though I felt unwell, I was relieved when Jenkins told us we must travel to Gloucester, another city, and see the sawmills there, and the place where railway carriages were built. I couldn’t face another day of sitting in Mrs Johnson’s house smelling nothing but damp, wet newspapers, and stewed meat, while Wharepapa scribbled letter after letter and Reihana talked of his deep sadness.

  We spent one or two nights in Warwick, where the Mayor was very solicitous, giving each of us a fine bound copy of the New Testament. Kihirini could not accompany us, and Ngahuia was difficult there, as I recall, demanding her own cab when we arrived at the station, and refusing to take her place on the platform that evening. But the rest of us were happy to see something new.

  Something old was waiting for us on our return to Birmingham. Hirini and Tere Pakia had decided to abandon the Maori Warrior Chiefs and throw themselves on the mercy of Jenkins. They didn’t care for performing each night on the stage, they said, and had decided that Mr Ridgway was right. It was degra
ding, for no one understood who they were.

  I knew exactly who they were, so it was no great delight for me to stand with them on the platform in Cheltenham, or to stay in a room next to theirs at the Temperance Hotel in Stroud. Wharepapa said that if he were Jenkins, he would not have taken them back. I think Mr Lloyd and Mr Lightband agreed with this sentiment, for all this return meant was more expenditure, and the likelihood of more trouble.

  At Christmas all our Pakeha left us for a few days. Jenkins went to his brother’s in Stratford, taking Hapimana with him because he couldn’t be trusted to be left without a chaperone, and was a bad influence on others. Mr Lloyd went to London, and Mr Lightband went back to Worcester. They all had family in these places. The rest of us spent Christmas in our lodgings. Our spirits were very low. On Christmas Day itself, we knew that Hare Pomare, his wife, and their baby were sailing back to New Zealand on the clipper Statesman. They were travelling in a first-class cabin, with all their expenses paid by the Queen.

  I’m ashamed to say this, but I envied them. They were going home, escaping the terrible cold of England, and they would be well looked after on the voyage, with plenty to eat and a cabin all of their own. No one could look down on them, or tell them not to walk here and there. No one would ask them for waiata and haka simply as a way of passing the time, or putting on a show.

  True, they had not seen as much of England as we had, but that also meant they had not seen the fogs and chimney smoke of Birmingham, or felt its damp black dust settle in their throats. They had not made spectacles of themselves by cavorting about unclothed on the stage, like Tere and Hirini Pakia, and that bounder Wiremu Pou. They were returning with gifts from the Queen herself, just as Hongi returned with gifts from her uncle, the old King George, and this meant honour for them and their families.