Signposts - a blog about Te Ara the Encyclopedia of New Zealand

Nicole Whaitiri, of Moriori descent, admires a Moriori tree carving in a Chatham Islands forest (click for image credit)

Over a period of almost 10 years we’ve documented New Zealand’s places from top to bottom, and last week we published our coverage of four remote places – New Zealand’s offshore islands (including Stewart Island/Rakiura, which is not so far off shore).

The very notion of an island evokes romantic visions – as Places theme editor Malcolm McKinnon remarked when launching this group of stories, these places ‘conjure up all the images and fantasies associated with desert islands, treasure islands or made-up islands’. And yet images of white sands, turquoise waters and piña coladas on the beach are somewhat off target when it comes to the subantarctic islands, which sit in the roaring forties and furious fifties and are prone to vicious, howling storms – or the Chatham Islands, with their peat bogs and cloudy weather.

Yet the histories of all these places bear witness to humans’ dreams of island life. The human history of the subantarctic islands is largely one of thwarted dreams – a fascinating tale of Polynesian seafarers, European sealers, castaways, shiploads of British settlers (who built a settlement on Auckland Island, but lasted less than three years), wartime coast-watchers, meteorologists and hopeful but unsuccessful farmers. The only group who managed to stick it out longer than five years were Māori and Moriori from the Chatham Islands. The subantarctics remain home to massive numbers of seabirds, seals and sea lions, as well as colourful and eye-catching megaherbs.

Humans have had more success on the Chatham Islands, continuously occupied by Moriori from the 1400s. These peaceable people were devastated after the arrival of Māori in the 1830s, but today are seeing a resurgence of their culture, with Kōpinga marae opening in 2005. The Chathams are the size of greater Auckland, but with a population of just 660.

Stewart Island, the country’s third main island, was named Rakiura by Māori for its glowing skies, and is just an hour by ferry from Bluff. Famous for its tītī (muttonbird) harvest, it’s a mecca for trampers, with Rakiura National Park covering about 85% of the island.

The volcanic Kermadec Islands, at the northernmost reaches of New Zealand’s territory, have a mild subtropical climate – and a captivating (if intermittent) human history. Polynesian visitors came from the 1300s; European whalers plundered the waters; the Bell family farmed Raoul Island from 1878; and Germans used the Kermadecs as a hideout during the First World War. Today the islands are a nature reserve where the only human residents are Department of Conservation staff – but the avian population is booming.

We hope you enjoy the stories of these remote and remarkable places as much as we enjoyed working on them.

Carmen with former MP Georgina Beyer at Parliament in 2006

At Te Ara we were saddened to hear of the passing of Carmen Rupe in Sydney. The irrepressible, flamboyant Carmen (Ngāti Maniapoto) was a ground-breaker in so many ways. In the resolutely conservative Wellington of the 1960s and 1970s she was openly and proudly transsexual – and incredibly glamorous to boot. As an entrepreneur she provided the city with a series of glittering businesses, many of them involving commercial sex. Her unswerving insistence on being exactly who she was has been an inspiration to many – especially in New Zealand’s then-fledgling transgender community.

Carmen was a loved and respected kuia of the Australian and New Zealand queer communities, spending the last 32 years in Sydney, where in recent years she was the caretaker of a community centre attached to a block of flats in Surry Hills. However, she had been ill on and off for a number of months after a fall and hip surgery, and died from kidney failure on the morning of 15 December, aged 75.

Carmen was born Trevor Rupe, one of a family of 13 from Taumarunui. After a stint in the army (where, with characteristic confidence, she lip-synched in drag at a farewell concert), she moved to Sydney, working in the sex industry and as a drag performer – including performances with a live snake. Returning to Wellington in 1967, she rented a former clothing factory in Vivian Street and opened Carmen’s International Coffee Lounge, fancifully decorated and staffed by glamorous transgender hostesses who served tea, coffee, toasted sandwiches and pastries – as well as various sexual services, which customers requested through an ingenious system of positioning their cups and saucers. ‘All my girls were boys, or had been boys at some time,’ Carmen wrote in her 1988 memoir Carmen: my life. ‘They had to be beautiful … Dress in high fashion was de rigueur.’

Her other business ventures included striptease club The Balcony, an Egyptian tearoom in Cuba Street (’I had the walls sprayed with golden sand which sparkled … a large wooden elephant from Egypt stood by the doorway’), a curio shop, a massage parlour, and a brothel in a big old house in Hataitai. Her unsuccessful 1977 bid for the Wellington mayoralty – backed by businessman Bob Jones, under the slogan ‘Get in behind’ – saw her shoot to national prominence. In 1979 Carmen returned to Sydney, where she spent the rest of her life. Last year the Sydney Morning Herald featured her in this affectionate photographic tribute and interview, where she discusses the need for facilities for the transgendered elderly.

Carmen will be much missed by her many friends and admirers. The hundreds of tributes that have appeared online in the last day describe her as a ‘transgender goddess’, a ‘legend’, ‘the showgirl of all showgirls’ and a ‘GLBT [gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender] icon’. One thing is for sure: she was a pioneer and a role model for many. Moe mai ra e te kahurangi, moe mai ra.

Book cover of New Zealanders and the sea (click to see a larger image)

Just in time for New Zealand Book Month (and early Christmas shopping), Te Ara’s new book, New Zealanders and the sea, has hit the shops.

New Zealand’s 18,000-kilometre coastline is the seventh-longest of any country, and nowhere is more than 130 kilometres from the coast – so it’s not surprising that most New Zealanders have a strong relationship with the sea. The ancestors of Māori, and of most Pākehā, arrived here by sea; exports and imports are still largely dependent on sea ports.

New Zealanders and the sea looks at the ways we have engaged with the sea, using it for transport and for economic gain, as a source of food – and, of course, as a place for recreation and holidays. Based on entries from Te Ara’s Earth, Sea and Sky theme, New Zealanders and the sea takes in everything from castaways to the fishing industry to marine conservation to Tangaroa, Māori god of the sea.

There are stories of flocks of sheep driven along the beach or transported by sea; of the isolated lives of lighthouse keepers and their families; of Māori methods of fishing and storing the catch; of the appropriate attire to wear to the beach, and how that’s changed over time; of Nola and Berry Edwards and their shell-encrusted car.

And – like Te Ara – New Zealanders and the sea is beautifully illustrated, with remarkable images of whaling, of rescued castaways, lighthouses, waka and 1960s surfers – as well as these likely lads sitting outside their caravan with a few cold ones.

New Zealanders and the sea is available at all good bookstores, RRP $69.99 (ISBN 978-1-86953-681-7).

The spread of a tsunami, 2004

The devastating tsunami that hit the coasts of Samoa, American Samoa and Tonga on the morning of 30 September – with waves up to 6 metres high, flooding as far as 1.6 kilometres inland, and killing at least 150 people – was caused by a massive undersea earthquake of magnitude 8.3, some 190 kilometres south of Apia. The Samoa–Tonga region is one of the world’s most seismically active areas, where the Pacific and Australian plates collide – as they do diagonally across New Zealand.

Tsunamis are broad waves in oceans or lakes, caused by large disturbances, locally or far away – movement of the sea floor during earthquakes, landslides under or into the water, or even the impact of a meteor. The New Scientist has a detailed explanation of the causes of the 30 September tsunami.

While tsunamis might seem a remote possibility in New Zealand – perhaps explaining why some people headed for the beach rather than the hills during Wednesday’s tsunami alert – in fact the country has experienced many tsunamis over the centuries. Māori tradition discusses a huge wave that killed many people on the western side of D’Urville Island, and there is archaeological evidence of early Māori moving inland or uphill from coastal settlements, along with evidence of tsunamis near the abandoned villages.

Since Pākehā settlement, there have been no tsunami deaths in mainland New Zealand. But the 1855 Wairarapa earthquake generated a tsunami in Cook Strait which destroyed sheds more than 8 metres above the sea at Te Kopi in Palliser Bay. In March 1947 the coast north of Gisborne was hit by a tsunami after an earthquake. A bridge was swept away, the Tatapōuri Hotel was flooded, and some buildings were sucked out to sea. June Young, whose family owned the hotel, remembers the giant wave, and the seaweed that was left hanging in the power lines. Remarkably, no one died.

But, tragically, this week’s tsunami has wreaked devastation across the south coast of Samoa and American Samoa, and on Niuatoputapu island in Tonga. Those losses are being keenly felt in New Zealand too, as a Pacific nation where many Samoans and Tongans make their home, and the site of the world’s largest Polynesian city. At least three New Zealanders died in the tsunami, with many more still unaccounted for at the time of writing.

New Zealanders have already given over $350,000 to relief agencies’ tsunami appeals; here’s a list of agencies, if you’d like to make a donation.

Welcome to Manaia

We went to Manaia in South Taranaki for Easter – an odd choice for a holiday, really. Even Murray, owner of the 103-year-old Waimate Hotel, where we stayed, looked dubious: ‘Do you have family here?’ he asked.

No; we’d driven down the coast road after WOMAD a few weeks earlier, and had our curiosity piqued by the signs that said ‘Soldiers’ cemetery’, and ‘Cape Egmont lighthouse‘, and ‘Parihaka Pa‘. Our Easter plan was to stay in Ōpunake, actually, but the Kneeboard Surfing World Championships were on and all the accommodation was full.

We were the only guests in the Waimate Hotel; not even the bar was open, because it was Good Friday. Murray told us that recently the place had been full, occupied by workers at the Kāpuni gas plant, but they’d all gone home for Easter.

Our room overlooked Manaia’s central Octagon, with its band rotunda and two granite obelisks, one commemorating the two world wars, and the other the men of the armed constabulary who died fighting the Ngāti Ruanui leader Tītokowaru in 1868.

Dairy tankers roared past, gleaming, on their way to the Fonterra factory at Whareroa, outside Hāwera. Yarrows bakery, opposite the hotel, was quiet, and the elegant 1911 post office was now home to a tattooist and an ‘alternative art gallery’. In the distance, Mt Taranaki, snow-topped after Thursday’s cold snap, was emerging from its thick cover of cloud.

Soldiers’ memorial, Te Ngutu-o-te-manu

On Saturday we went looking for Te Ngutu-o-te-manu, the pā where government forces made spectacularly unsuccessful attacks on Tītokowaru in August and September 1868. My atlas showed a historic place on an unnamed back road to the north; other than that, we had little to go on. We trawled up and down the narrow country roads, finally spotting a sign and driving into a bush-clad clearing where a tall white cross stood as memorial to the soldiers.

Ōhawe military cemetery – through the gate, over the fence, across the creek, up the hill

Almost as hard to find was the Ōhawe military cemetery, despite a large sign on the main road and an AA sign in the small beach settlement. We drove around and around, finally catching a glimpse of a monument in a hillside paddock behind a large hedge. We went through a gate, then picked our way through cowpats and thistles, climbed gingerly over an electric fence and jumped a creek to finally reach the small fenced area with its yellow-lichen-covered memorial to the Crown soldiers who died storming Ōtapawa pā and in other 1860s battles.

We gave up altogether on our search for Moturoa, another pā where Tītokowaru repelled government forces. An AA sign to the battle site points inland from Waverley, but once on the side road there’s no guidance at all. We were tired by then, and didn’t mind turning back – but it seems a shame that these remnants of South Taranaki history are so well-hidden.

If you’re out hunting for these sites, Te Ngutu-o-te-manu is on Ahipaipa Road, north of Ōkaiawa, and the Ōhawe cemetery is on farmland on Ōhawe Terrace. Let me know if you ever find Moturoa.