Manilla folders, bursting at the seams with copies of birth and death certificates competed for space on the aged work-stained table where numerous scraps of paper covered in scribbled notes were stacked haphazardly. The three cousins endeavoured to piece together the trail of their forebears who had arrived in New Zealand before the influx of Pakeha settlers. Several months earlier in idle conversation about life in the olden days, the idea was hatched that a Family Tree should be tackled before the remaining elderly aunts and uncles departed this world. Maggie launched into the self-imposed task with vigour bulldozing Lily and Cathy, who were younger, into acting as gatherers and collators of information.
Cathy, who prided herself on her extensive computer skills, was assigned the task of assembling the information into chronological order. Lily, the proud possessor of several faded sepia-toned photographs from a bygone era and who was privy to many family stories, assumed the compilation role. Lily enjoyed her duties. She was well known amongst the family as the one who kept in touch with relatives near and far, and it was to her that family secrets and desires were divulged. Lily was curious by nature and should a whisper of a tale reach her ears she would sit and write a long chatty letter unobtrusively placing her query in the middle, thus not making her curiosity apparent. She didn’t consider it nosey, and consequently her knowledge of family stories was incredible. The folders and notes amassed to mammoth proportions until it became essential they take time out from everyday interruptions to concentrate on the proposed contents of ‘The Family Tree’. They resolved to spend three days at The Crib in the Catlins where they would be assured of relative peace and quiet.
Cathy and Maggie leaned over the table engrossed in their latest discussion. Had great-grandfather chosen his life as a whaler, or was it thrust upon him because his parents had been convicts deported to Botany Bay? Maggie had almost convinced them that he had chosen that way of life, but secretly Lily, who didn’t think it important, had some doubts. Who, in their right mind, would choose to sail across the Tasman Sea to distant, almost uninhabited New Zealand, to chase whales in a small boat? Lily, who preferred the comforts of home, failed to see how any ancestor of hers could possibly choose a life of hardship over that of living in a civilised country. She had to admit that perhaps Australia was not all that civilised in the mid 1800’s, but she was positive life must have been easier than harpooning migrating whales in the inhospitable Southern Ocean.
At this particular moment a deliciously tempting aroma rising from the battered black enamel pot on the coal range was of greater importance. She was hungry. Breakfast had been a hit and miss affair as they had hoped to catch a fish on the incoming tide. No fish had taken the bait. A slice of over-cooked toast spread with marmite, and a cup of tea was not the type of breakfast Lily was used to. At home on the dairy farm, breakfast consisted of porridge, eggs and toast, followed by at least two cups of strong, sweet, milky coffee.
Perched above the river estuary with an expansive view of beach and bush, the Crib had undergone extensive alternations and additions, which updated the old dull green tin shed that had occupied the site for over fifty years into a comfortable, if somewhat, isolated, holiday home. With the coal range for cooking and heating, and a generator for lighting, it provided the extended family a welcome escape from the hustle and bustle of daily living. Lily preferred city lights; the Art Gallery, the Museum or a shopping Mall, when in need of an escape, but had agreed to travel down the dusty highway and along the muddy potholed track as her contribution in hurrying along the completion of this historical document. Maggie and Cathy, convinced of the importance of a complete Family Tree to place in the archives of family history, were serious as to its final content.
Lily’s eyes roamed the room as Maggie and Cathy energetically debated the pros and cons of a convict’s life in Sydney. The range radiated warmth that enveloped the cousins. An elderly kettle, its marble rolling gently hissed steam as the lid jiggled, and the hand-knotted fabric mat fashioned by their grandmother covered a blotchy paint mark made by Maggie’s grandson when he accidentally knocked over an almost empty paint can with his fishing rod. Fleetingly she wondered who made the cushions on the rolled back sofa, but that thought became irrelevant when a glow in the distant cabinet captured her attention. The cabinet, which had originally been display shelves in the local chemist, had been consigned to the local tip after being replaced by a modern glass and chrome unit. Maggie, dumping garden rubbish noticed the cabinet and carted it home where she painted the exterior a deep teal and the interior pale sky blue. Not a colour scheme for a home in the town, but here in this remote Crib on the southern coast it fitted in perfectly.
Lily’s mind began to drift. That cabinet held an inexplicable attraction. She attempted to ignore it and tried concentrating on the conversation of her cousins, but to no avail. Botany Bay, Sydney, stolen handkerchiefs, deportation; none of these held her attention. Her gaze kept returning to the cabinet.
Lily wandered around the room, stirred the stew simmering on the stove and noted that it was ready for eating. She looked out the window at the cheeky seagull that was perched on the clothesline pole. “Fly away Peter, fly away Paul”, she intoned quietly to herself. The seagull fluttered its wings, twisted its head in a comical way and stayed on the pole.
“I’ll bet that seagull caught all our fish this morning,” Lily said to Maggie and Cathy.
“Mmmmm, pardon, what did you say?” asked Cathy.
“Nothing, nothing of importance,” replied Lily.
Their only interest at the moment was finishing the Family Tree. Lily moved the old earthenware crock that her mother had used for pickling onions, and pulled out some of the dead greenery that leaned haphazardly over its edge all the time trying to ignore the cabinet and the irresistible drawing force it held. Moving slowly around the room she edged closer to the cabinet.
Several stone adzes held pride of place on the two top shelves. Great-grandfather had married a local Maori woman whilst whaling at nearby Tautuku Peninsula and these adzes had been in the family since those early days. Lily barely noticed a dried sea horse lying in solitude near a fragment of ambergris that had washed onto the adjacent beach after a southerly storm. On the bottom shelf she could see a stone, and it was this grey stone that glistened, and glowed, and attracted her. Fancy a stone glistening! For a moment Lily imagined the stone spoke to her, but shook her head in disbelief. She must need food. She was becoming lightheaded.
Maggie and Cathy sat at either end of the table absorbed in their discussion, totally oblivious to the dense sea fog drifting into the Crib and forming a curtain between them and Lily.
Lily opened the cabinet and quietly removed the stone with the hole in the centre. The fog swallowed up the room leaving Lily alone. The stone felt warm in her grasp and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise. She shivered without feeling cold. A moving shadow to the left caused her to swing around. Uttering a muffled cry of amazement she glimpsed, through the haze, a young woman standing near the door.
"I never noticed you before," she murmured. “Where did you spring from?”
Lily stared! This woman was not dressed like anyone she had ever met. She was a young Maori woman wearing a traditional flax skirt with a feather in her hair. A huia feather! Lily wondered where she found the feather. The huia had been extinct for years. The Maori prized huia feathers and wore them as adornment, or for ceremonial occasions. Lily wondered why the woman was there. Why she was dressed as in days of old? What did she want in this off the beaten track part of the Catlins? Perhaps she should ask? So many questions crowded her mind, but foremost Lily wanted to know why was she dressed like that?
Lily smiled in a friendly way. The young woman nodded her head in acknowledgement. Suddenly her eyes clouded in pain and Lily, kind hearted and gentle, hurried over and laid a friendly arm around the woman’s shoulder. The woman looked startled and squatted on the floor near the couch. Staring in surprise Lily realised the nature of the young woman's pain. She was in the throes of childbirth! Lily felt panic rising and called urgently to Maggie and Cathy. No reply came. She could neither see, nor hear her cousins. She could not see beyond that misty screen that hid the rest of the room. The coal range was not visible. She could not smell the aroma of the stew pot. There were no droning voices of her cousins discussing the Family Tree. There was only this stranger and herself. What was happening?
Assessing the options available Lily knew she must assist in the imminent birth, and with that decision made a serene calmness descended upon her. The young woman's face grimaced in pain. Lily was unsure of the correct procedure. Shouldn’t she have boiling water available? No doctor or midwife were on hand; no nurse; no clothes for the baby; nothing, only this thick fog; and Lily and the mother to be. Gently she eased the labouring maiden onto the couch, placed a multi-coloured crochet cushion behind her head and taking the throw from the adjacent armchair laid it carefully over the pregnant form.
"What is your name?" Lily enquired.
Haltingly the young woman replied, "I am Te Haukawea."
Lily eyes flew open in astonishment. Her great-grandmother, Te Haukawea, had lived on this isolated coastline and was married to the whaler, of convict parentage, who emigrated from Australia. Lily’s Christian names were Lily Te Haukawea, as she had been christened in memory of her great-grandmother.
When another spasm of pain crossed Te Haukawea's face Lily rubbed her back slowly until the contraction passed. Te Haukawea looked grateful and smiled a tremulous smile.
“Is this your first birthing?” asked Lily.
“Yes,” replied Te Haukawea. “But I have helped family members to deliver their babies. I do know what happens.”
Lily smiled. She was glad someone knew what to do as she herself had given birth to her three children in the clinical environment of a hospital with nurses in attendance and the gas mask handy for when the labour grew stronger. Here they were miles from civilisation, and seemingly without assistance of any type.
"The baby is coming," Te Haukawea gasped as she gave a grunt.
Lily sprang into action. As the baby's head made its appearance Lily carefully eased it into the world. The baby was a little girl, with soft tendrils of black hair clinging damply to her brow. Lily felt a rush of emotion overwhelm her as she gazed upon the newborn.
"You have a daughter Te Haukawea. You have a beautiful baby girl."
Te Haukawea, a proud smile on her face, lay back exhausted by the effort. Lily reached into the tea chest beyond the couch, and searching deep to the bottom found a soft blanket, edged with white satin ribbon, that she wrapped the baby in. She carefully handed the infant over to Te Haukawea who placed her to the breast for her first milk. Lily looked on in wonderment.
This trip had been arranged for the sole purpose of making solid progress on the Family Tree, and here she was assisting in a birth. She had no idea of the whereabouts of Cathy and Maggie. They had been here in the room with her, but now the room was veiled in mist. Lily smiled to herself as a fleeting thought crossed her mind. Cathy and Maggie had missed the excitement of participating in this birthing; they would scarcely believe her when she told them what she had witnessed.
Cathy, who prided herself on her extensive computer skills, was assigned the task of assembling the information into chronological order. Lily, the proud possessor of several faded sepia-toned photographs from a bygone era and who was privy to many family stories, assumed the compilation role. Lily enjoyed her duties. She was well known amongst the family as the one who kept in touch with relatives near and far, and it was to her that family secrets and desires were divulged. Lily was curious by nature and should a whisper of a tale reach her ears she would sit and write a long chatty letter unobtrusively placing her query in the middle, thus not making her curiosity apparent. She didn’t consider it nosey, and consequently her knowledge of family stories was incredible. The folders and notes amassed to mammoth proportions until it became essential they take time out from everyday interruptions to concentrate on the proposed contents of ‘The Family Tree’. They resolved to spend three days at The Crib in the Catlins where they would be assured of relative peace and quiet.
Cathy and Maggie leaned over the table engrossed in their latest discussion. Had great-grandfather chosen his life as a whaler, or was it thrust upon him because his parents had been convicts deported to Botany Bay? Maggie had almost convinced them that he had chosen that way of life, but secretly Lily, who didn’t think it important, had some doubts. Who, in their right mind, would choose to sail across the Tasman Sea to distant, almost uninhabited New Zealand, to chase whales in a small boat? Lily, who preferred the comforts of home, failed to see how any ancestor of hers could possibly choose a life of hardship over that of living in a civilised country. She had to admit that perhaps Australia was not all that civilised in the mid 1800’s, but she was positive life must have been easier than harpooning migrating whales in the inhospitable Southern Ocean.
At this particular moment a deliciously tempting aroma rising from the battered black enamel pot on the coal range was of greater importance. She was hungry. Breakfast had been a hit and miss affair as they had hoped to catch a fish on the incoming tide. No fish had taken the bait. A slice of over-cooked toast spread with marmite, and a cup of tea was not the type of breakfast Lily was used to. At home on the dairy farm, breakfast consisted of porridge, eggs and toast, followed by at least two cups of strong, sweet, milky coffee.
Perched above the river estuary with an expansive view of beach and bush, the Crib had undergone extensive alternations and additions, which updated the old dull green tin shed that had occupied the site for over fifty years into a comfortable, if somewhat, isolated, holiday home. With the coal range for cooking and heating, and a generator for lighting, it provided the extended family a welcome escape from the hustle and bustle of daily living. Lily preferred city lights; the Art Gallery, the Museum or a shopping Mall, when in need of an escape, but had agreed to travel down the dusty highway and along the muddy potholed track as her contribution in hurrying along the completion of this historical document. Maggie and Cathy, convinced of the importance of a complete Family Tree to place in the archives of family history, were serious as to its final content.
Lily’s eyes roamed the room as Maggie and Cathy energetically debated the pros and cons of a convict’s life in Sydney. The range radiated warmth that enveloped the cousins. An elderly kettle, its marble rolling gently hissed steam as the lid jiggled, and the hand-knotted fabric mat fashioned by their grandmother covered a blotchy paint mark made by Maggie’s grandson when he accidentally knocked over an almost empty paint can with his fishing rod. Fleetingly she wondered who made the cushions on the rolled back sofa, but that thought became irrelevant when a glow in the distant cabinet captured her attention. The cabinet, which had originally been display shelves in the local chemist, had been consigned to the local tip after being replaced by a modern glass and chrome unit. Maggie, dumping garden rubbish noticed the cabinet and carted it home where she painted the exterior a deep teal and the interior pale sky blue. Not a colour scheme for a home in the town, but here in this remote Crib on the southern coast it fitted in perfectly.
Lily’s mind began to drift. That cabinet held an inexplicable attraction. She attempted to ignore it and tried concentrating on the conversation of her cousins, but to no avail. Botany Bay, Sydney, stolen handkerchiefs, deportation; none of these held her attention. Her gaze kept returning to the cabinet.
Lily wandered around the room, stirred the stew simmering on the stove and noted that it was ready for eating. She looked out the window at the cheeky seagull that was perched on the clothesline pole. “Fly away Peter, fly away Paul”, she intoned quietly to herself. The seagull fluttered its wings, twisted its head in a comical way and stayed on the pole.
“I’ll bet that seagull caught all our fish this morning,” Lily said to Maggie and Cathy.
“Mmmmm, pardon, what did you say?” asked Cathy.
“Nothing, nothing of importance,” replied Lily.
Their only interest at the moment was finishing the Family Tree. Lily moved the old earthenware crock that her mother had used for pickling onions, and pulled out some of the dead greenery that leaned haphazardly over its edge all the time trying to ignore the cabinet and the irresistible drawing force it held. Moving slowly around the room she edged closer to the cabinet.
Several stone adzes held pride of place on the two top shelves. Great-grandfather had married a local Maori woman whilst whaling at nearby Tautuku Peninsula and these adzes had been in the family since those early days. Lily barely noticed a dried sea horse lying in solitude near a fragment of ambergris that had washed onto the adjacent beach after a southerly storm. On the bottom shelf she could see a stone, and it was this grey stone that glistened, and glowed, and attracted her. Fancy a stone glistening! For a moment Lily imagined the stone spoke to her, but shook her head in disbelief. She must need food. She was becoming lightheaded.
Maggie and Cathy sat at either end of the table absorbed in their discussion, totally oblivious to the dense sea fog drifting into the Crib and forming a curtain between them and Lily.
Lily opened the cabinet and quietly removed the stone with the hole in the centre. The fog swallowed up the room leaving Lily alone. The stone felt warm in her grasp and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise. She shivered without feeling cold. A moving shadow to the left caused her to swing around. Uttering a muffled cry of amazement she glimpsed, through the haze, a young woman standing near the door.
"I never noticed you before," she murmured. “Where did you spring from?”
Lily stared! This woman was not dressed like anyone she had ever met. She was a young Maori woman wearing a traditional flax skirt with a feather in her hair. A huia feather! Lily wondered where she found the feather. The huia had been extinct for years. The Maori prized huia feathers and wore them as adornment, or for ceremonial occasions. Lily wondered why the woman was there. Why she was dressed as in days of old? What did she want in this off the beaten track part of the Catlins? Perhaps she should ask? So many questions crowded her mind, but foremost Lily wanted to know why was she dressed like that?
Lily smiled in a friendly way. The young woman nodded her head in acknowledgement. Suddenly her eyes clouded in pain and Lily, kind hearted and gentle, hurried over and laid a friendly arm around the woman’s shoulder. The woman looked startled and squatted on the floor near the couch. Staring in surprise Lily realised the nature of the young woman's pain. She was in the throes of childbirth! Lily felt panic rising and called urgently to Maggie and Cathy. No reply came. She could neither see, nor hear her cousins. She could not see beyond that misty screen that hid the rest of the room. The coal range was not visible. She could not smell the aroma of the stew pot. There were no droning voices of her cousins discussing the Family Tree. There was only this stranger and herself. What was happening?
Assessing the options available Lily knew she must assist in the imminent birth, and with that decision made a serene calmness descended upon her. The young woman's face grimaced in pain. Lily was unsure of the correct procedure. Shouldn’t she have boiling water available? No doctor or midwife were on hand; no nurse; no clothes for the baby; nothing, only this thick fog; and Lily and the mother to be. Gently she eased the labouring maiden onto the couch, placed a multi-coloured crochet cushion behind her head and taking the throw from the adjacent armchair laid it carefully over the pregnant form.
"What is your name?" Lily enquired.
Haltingly the young woman replied, "I am Te Haukawea."
Lily eyes flew open in astonishment. Her great-grandmother, Te Haukawea, had lived on this isolated coastline and was married to the whaler, of convict parentage, who emigrated from Australia. Lily’s Christian names were Lily Te Haukawea, as she had been christened in memory of her great-grandmother.
When another spasm of pain crossed Te Haukawea's face Lily rubbed her back slowly until the contraction passed. Te Haukawea looked grateful and smiled a tremulous smile.
“Is this your first birthing?” asked Lily.
“Yes,” replied Te Haukawea. “But I have helped family members to deliver their babies. I do know what happens.”
Lily smiled. She was glad someone knew what to do as she herself had given birth to her three children in the clinical environment of a hospital with nurses in attendance and the gas mask handy for when the labour grew stronger. Here they were miles from civilisation, and seemingly without assistance of any type.
"The baby is coming," Te Haukawea gasped as she gave a grunt.
Lily sprang into action. As the baby's head made its appearance Lily carefully eased it into the world. The baby was a little girl, with soft tendrils of black hair clinging damply to her brow. Lily felt a rush of emotion overwhelm her as she gazed upon the newborn.
"You have a daughter Te Haukawea. You have a beautiful baby girl."
Te Haukawea, a proud smile on her face, lay back exhausted by the effort. Lily reached into the tea chest beyond the couch, and searching deep to the bottom found a soft blanket, edged with white satin ribbon, that she wrapped the baby in. She carefully handed the infant over to Te Haukawea who placed her to the breast for her first milk. Lily looked on in wonderment.
This trip had been arranged for the sole purpose of making solid progress on the Family Tree, and here she was assisting in a birth. She had no idea of the whereabouts of Cathy and Maggie. They had been here in the room with her, but now the room was veiled in mist. Lily smiled to herself as a fleeting thought crossed her mind. Cathy and Maggie had missed the excitement of participating in this birthing; they would scarcely believe her when she told them what she had witnessed.
After Te Haukawea fed the child, and slept a time, she smiled at Lily and whispered shy thanks before rising to her feet, babe in her arms.
"I am naming this girl Mere," Te Haukawea told Lily. "I am grateful for your help, but I must go now."
Lily, reluctant to let her leave so hastily, handed Te Haukawea another blanket and embraced her, but before she could utter a word Te Haukawea and Mere disappeared into the mist. Lily was very close to tears. Her great-grandmother was named Te Haukawea and her first daughter, Lily's Grandmother, had been called Mere. Tears slid silently from Lily's eyes as the significance of what she had witnessed hit home. A trip back in time! Had she witnessed her own grandmother's birth?
Lily rubbed her eyes as the mist rolled back, and there at the table, still deeply involved in their discussion, sat Maggie and Cathy. The cushion on the couch showed a small indentation where Te Haukawea’s head had rested; the lid of the tea chest was open and the linen and blankets dishevelled as though disturbed.
Lily, holding the stone with the hollow centre, could sense it pulsating in time with her heartbeat.
“Maggie?”
“Yes Lily?” replied Maggie. “Lunch is almost ready. If you have nothing to do maybe you could set the table?”
“Maggie?” said Lily. “What is this stone?”
“Oh that,” shrugged Maggie, “that’s a spirit stone. It’s supposed to have supernatural powers; if you believe in that sort of thing.”
"I am naming this girl Mere," Te Haukawea told Lily. "I am grateful for your help, but I must go now."
Lily, reluctant to let her leave so hastily, handed Te Haukawea another blanket and embraced her, but before she could utter a word Te Haukawea and Mere disappeared into the mist. Lily was very close to tears. Her great-grandmother was named Te Haukawea and her first daughter, Lily's Grandmother, had been called Mere. Tears slid silently from Lily's eyes as the significance of what she had witnessed hit home. A trip back in time! Had she witnessed her own grandmother's birth?
Lily rubbed her eyes as the mist rolled back, and there at the table, still deeply involved in their discussion, sat Maggie and Cathy. The cushion on the couch showed a small indentation where Te Haukawea’s head had rested; the lid of the tea chest was open and the linen and blankets dishevelled as though disturbed.
Lily, holding the stone with the hollow centre, could sense it pulsating in time with her heartbeat.
“Maggie?”
“Yes Lily?” replied Maggie. “Lunch is almost ready. If you have nothing to do maybe you could set the table?”
“Maggie?” said Lily. “What is this stone?”
“Oh that,” shrugged Maggie, “that’s a spirit stone. It’s supposed to have supernatural powers; if you believe in that sort of thing.”
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