Korero|Stories

Matua Hare Paniora From: Waimamaku, Hokianga. Northland Current: Owairaka - Maungawhau. Tamaki Makaurau Korero: 2023 Born: 1939 Ko Pīwakawaka te maunga Ko Hawaiki te papa kainga Ko Te Whakamāharatanga te marae Ko Ahuriri te wāhi tapu Ko Te Roroa, Ngāti Pou ngā hapu Ko Ngāpuhi te iwi Ko Hare Paniora tōku ingoa I was brought into this world in 1939, in the Waimamaku Valley, Hokianga, to Reuben Taurau Paniora and Te Ani Hoka. Most families didn’t speak Māori – my mum and dad included, despite being fluent in te reo. – but our elders did. Our grandfather would tell us amazing stories in Māori. Although I never understood at the time, it all came back to me later on. The Anglican Gospel came to our area in the early 1800s. My great - grandfather and his era took on-board the European influence very quickly. They ran with it and didn’t really protest. They really took on everything from the colonizer. I remember being frightened of one particular elder of that era. He wore glasses that hung down with his eyes peering out, a watch and chain, the monocle, the waistcoat, and the walking stick. He, like many of our people, dressed impeccably like the European. They used it to their advantage, announcing or portraying their mana. There were five siblings in our family. Two of my brothers died in infancy, so there were three of us growing up, my sister Betty, my brother Sam, and myself. We had very little in terms of material things but had lots of warmth and love. When you compare it to today, it would be hard: no carpet on the floor; NZ weekly as wallpaper to keep the draft out; water from a tank; no hot water. In our bedroom there were windows, but no glass, just a sack hung over the frame. I often tell my grandchildren that we had instant air conditioning. ‘You had air conditioning?’ they’d say. ‘Absolutely!’ Today, if I talk to my son, he’s like, ‘Oh, terrible!’ But we never thought like that. We just accepted what little we had at the time. We’d be on the dusty road, playing for hours with old chicory coffee bottles. We’d go down to the creek, take off our clothes, and jump straight into the river, then lie on the large stones to dry. The river, the beach and the sea played a big role in our growing up. We didn’t celebrate or know about Matariki, but we knew when to fish, and we followed the elders. We knew where not to go. We knew the signs; the old people told us that if three waves come crashing over, it’s time to go. It’s a warning, because you won’t see the fourth one. I enjoyed school immensely. There was no mātauranga Māori at all – we had that from our community, our marae, our parents and elders. I went through Waiotemarama Primary, then later to Waimamaku Primary and then to the adjacent Waimamaku District High, where we were all encouraged to participate in sports -rugby, netball, cricket, tennis and swimming. The local river became our swimming pool, with the willow lined banks our changing sheds. Rugby was likened to religion. When we played other schools, the whole community would be involved. The pinnacle of our 1st XV would be recapturing the noted Ling Cup and victory over Northland College 2nd XV. Church played a huge part in our lives during my younger years When the bells chimed, you’d see the kids, dressed up, running across the paddocks to get to church. We’d have Sunday School, then the elders would come in and the main service would start. Going to the marae, or church was part of the life of the whole community; the church, the school, and the marae were all central to the over-all well-being of the community. We had European families in our community who secured land much earlier on from the crown. I do not know why, but our people put them on a pedestal. There was a lot of respect in the valley, and it was two-way with the Europeans. They were so lovely to our people. Some of them even spoke Māori. My family owned our land, which finally went to my dad. After mum died, he remarried. It is still there, but there are many owners from our extended whanau now. What I have instilled into our children and our grandchildren their whakapapa, whakatauāki, maunga, marae, papa-kainga, awa, moana and whenua. In wartime, like all young men, Dad went off to war. They were keen to go, not knowing what they were getting into. Dad took the photo of the three of us with him – Sam, Betty, and me in our Sunday best. We always refer to it as ‘the three stooges. Dad and Graham Smythe were the two from our valley who joined the 28th Maori Battalion. Graham had also three children, but unfortunately forgot to take the photo of his three children. Prior to their final farewell from the community, they were both invited to one of the elders home and was asked to bring a large bottle of whisky. Upon their arrival, the elder took the whisky and placed it in the cupboard and locked the door. He turned to the two standing in complete silence, and proceeded to recite a blessing of protection, and following its completion, then informed them both that one will return, and one will not. During the campaign Dad and Graham always had their karakia- prayer before our family photo, then they would attend the batallions karakia-prayers led by Canon Wi Huata. During one particular prayer before our family photo Dad was concerned that Graham did not show up but was relieved when he appeared at the main service led by Major Huata. Later that evening Graham was listed as killed in action. Dad always had the photo of us with him. It was his way of connecting to home. Photos are important to all Māori, as they become the vehicle of connecting with those who have passed away. Dad served six years in the 28th Māori Battalion as second lieutenant. He was awarded several service medals. I was very young when he left, so I didn’t really know who he was when he came back. When Dad was away, Mum had the three of us to take care of, as well as our four cousins after their mum died. My mother would keep the house very clean. The floors were scrubbed just about every day with sand soap. It must have been quite tough on her with Dad not there, but it happened to everybody. It was normal, and she was always supported by her whānau. I loved my years at Waimamaku High School, and was unsuccessful with School Certificate, so I left to work in the Waipoua forest. I enjoyed working with the men. We had Europeans, Māori, all sorts. We had the riff raff of Hokianga. I ended up working with a junior woodsman who just happened to be the younger brother of All Black Patrick Walsh. We’d run around through the trees, passing the ball in our hobnail boots! Oh, gosh, we were so fit! The camaraderie was wonderful, but I was looking forward to something else. In 1957, St Stephen’s College in Auckland were doing a tour around Northland to recruit students. The teachers knew Dad from being overseas together. They asked him, ‘You got a boy?’ ‘Yeah, he’s in the forest.’ ‘Go and get him,’ they said. Dad and Mum asked me if I would go back to school to get my School Cert, which I did. My parents did everything to send me to St Stephen’s. It was so expensive. They had to kill a cow or a pig to pay for the fees, or sell bags of kumara or potatoes. But then, this is what most families did. St Stephen’s came at the right time for me. I arrived on a Friday, and on Saturday I played for the First XV and scored the first try against the old boys – not because I was brilliant, but because I was in the right place at the right time! I stayed there through 1957 and 1958 and toured the South Island, playing First XV rugby, and participating in the kapa haka group. I was fortunate to take the Senior Tennis title in my second year. I am ever so grateful to St Stephen’s for allowing me to experience many Maori and European families, and to see so many parts of Aotearoa. They were pivotal moments for me, experiencing two worlds and two different cultures. Things took a turn when my teacher, the esteemed Hoani (John) Waititi, was involved in a car accident and lost his license. As a result, I became his chauffeur. He owned a new-model Zephyr, a blue DeLuxe. Oh, it was beautiful! My friends would sit in the car and pretend to drive it. It was so cool, Oh but everybody hated me! We’d drive throughout the night, all over. He had a teaching role at Queen Victoria so I had to dine with girls; He’d be at a tennis meeting; a Māori meeting; at the university; We’d be going until two or three in the morning. I’d get a bed from someone until he’d wake me up. ‘Come on, we’re off!’ Hoani would only speak to me in Māori. I understood what he was saying, although I couldn’t speak back. Working with Hoani was a real eye opener for me. I gained a lot of experience and I met so many elders from different tribes. Hoani was just what Māoridom needed. He was the new young Māori who was really moving ahead. He accomplished extraordinary work for our people. He could never say ‘no’. When he was in his late thirties, he passed away from bone cancer. He could never say ‘no’. When he was in his late thirties, he passed away from bone cancer. I honestly believe that all this work he did for Māori is what really killed him. St. Stephen’s gave me two amazing years. It enabled me to get to where I was wanting to go, and become more visible in terms of things Māori. Although I had a very good upbringing, those two years helped shape what I wanted to be, and that’s how I began my journey into the field of education. After two years at St Stephen’s, I entered Ardmore – the only residential teachers’ college in NZ at that time. There were a lot of Māori, Pacific, and European students. The Māori Club was full of Europeans! We all lived together. I loved it there. Even now, we’re still having reunions. I was part of a singing group, called the Ardenaires. We sang professionally. It was one way to get extra money, and it was fun. I couldn’t read a note, but I enjoyed immensely being with the group.! We won a lot of talent quests. At Ruia Morrison’s farewell concert in the Town Hall, we were given the opportunity to support the star attraction which was the Howard Morrison Quartet. We sang our version of Lonely Street, and the wonderful enthusiastic crowd wouldn’t let us go off the stage. We had to sing another one, and another! Howard was ropable, as they had time for only 3 items. After Ardmore, I arrived at my first job at Papamoa Māori School, Tauranga, in 1961. Before I left, I went home. My grandfather gave me clear advice. He said, ‘Kia tūwhera ō kanohi, ō taringa, ko tō waha kia katia.’ Your eyes, your ears you keep open, your mouth, you keep it shut! That’s exactly what I did, and I’ve never regretted it. On my first day at Papamoa, the elders said to me, in Māori, ‘Hey young fella, you will teach our children spelling, writing, arithmetic and English. But anything Māori, you leave that to us.’ That didn’t actually happen; they didn’t look at anything Māori. I carried on doing things that I thought were appropriate. The guitar became my saving grace in supporting all songs, action songs, choral work, stick games, and of course the poi. I could also speak some Māori. I would go on to teach in primary schools all over the North Island for another twenty-five years. Rugby was still a big part of my life. Playing at Mt Maunganui, I had a near fatal-accident where my neck snapped. I was about to play for Bay of Plenty against the Springboks, but I ended up in hospital for three months, and that was my dream gone. They worked on me with weights and extra physio activities. The process was very painful and I did go back to playing rugby. My first game back, I somehow got the ball. I glided right through the whole team and put the ball down under the post. Not because I was brilliant, but because everyone was too afraid to tackle me. They didn’t want to put me six feet under. That was the end of my rugby, and due to many people at the Mount, it led me to discover the wonderful game of golf, which I am still active in. At 84 years old, I still continue to manage playing off a single handicap! Before my brother and I left Waimamaku, my father didn’t do a karakia for us. I’m not blaming him but, subsequently, my brother suffered an accident and was paralysed, and I had mine soon after. My brother was a volunteer active in Malaya. He was paralysed, not in action, but from diving off the rocks with his mates. He was hospitalised for ten years before he passed. The day he came out of the hospital overseas was the day I went into the hospital in Tauranga with a fractured neck. I’ve always had a feeling that they spared me and took him. The elders read a lot into these things. They said to Dad, ‘You didn’t give a blessing to your sons before they left.’ I felt so sorry for him. He had to just take it. We never talked about it afterwards. I was teaching at Omanu School at the Mount when I met Mary. She was a dental nurse. I’ll never forget when she first arrived. She went past the classroom, and I thought, ‘Geee!’ Even the headmaster noticed how much I was frequenting the dental clinic. ‘Oh, I had a sore tooth.’ ‘Sore tooth, be damn!’ he’d say. We had lot of laughs! Mary and I started going together. There was never a thought about race or anything. Her mother was just a wonderful mother-in-law. The fact that we both played golf was good. It was Mary’s mother who said to me, ‘I think you two better get married.’ We looked at each other, and I thought, ‘Yes!’ I mentioned to Mary that my grandfather had seven wives and outlived all of them. Mary checked if this was in my genes. I said, ‘I’m not planning on having any other wives! That’s finished!’ She said, ‘I’ll have that in writing!’ We’ve been together for fifty-five years now. We have two children, Lisa and Simon. They were born in Matamata, as we moved around as I taught all over. I wanted our kids to have a secondary education in Auckland. Today, we still live in the house in Mt Eden that our kids grew up in. Lisa is now a physio, and Simon is the creative type – a writer, photographer, designer and NZ Postie. We have three beautiful grandchildren who live nearby and spend a lot of time with us. When I first took Mary up north to meet my parents, my dad couldn’t move quick enough! Mum said she had never seen him mow the lawns like that! When our daughter was born, we went to see my brother Sam in hospital. He was lying there, and as I put our daughter on him, she started to play with his beard, that caused him to wail, to cry within himself. We both felt for him. That night, he passed away. I was thirty-six years old when I was given the opportunity to speak in te reo- which had been mostly dormant until now. I arrived home at 2:00 am for Sam’s tangi. The elders were all waiting for me. I entered the wharenui to a crescendo of high pitch wailing from the kuia. I went to my brother, then went through the process of meeting everyone. I then lay under my aunties eiderdown. She whispered, ‘Are you asleep?’ Like a fool, I said, ‘Yes.’ I was so scared. I could hear the heavy footsteps of the kaumatua coming towards me. He tapped my foot three times, laying his tokotoko at my feet. I had to wake up. There was a huge hush as all eyes were focused on me. The rows of elders were all looking at me as they held firmly to their tokotoko. If there was a hole, I would surely have gone through it. I took hold of the tokotoko, stood up, and, to my astonishment, the words just flowed from my mouth. What was happening? I quickly realised that it was my brother Sam, telling me to get my backside into gear because it was now time for me to korero. I would not have spoken in te reo if my brother was alive, because he was the tuakana-the eldest. I was ever so grateful to him. Mum and Dad couldn’t get over it. All the elders knew exactly what was happening. The women started wailing because they could feel it. It was a huge moment for me. Although I had my rugby accident, I was given a second chance.. I'll never forget that Sam was the one who did this for me. My twenty-five years of primary teaching were followed by teaching for six years as a senior lecturer in Māori Studies at Auckland Teacher’s College. It was a wonderful opportunity to share, with young aspiring minds, the development and inclusion of Mātauranga Māori into the NZ Curriculum. 1991 I was appointed Head of Centre for Puukenga at what was then called Carrington Polytech in Auckland. At my induction, I noticed that it was white, male-dominated, and didn’t appear to have any clear understanding of the Treaty of Waitangi. I didn’t come to change their thoughts, but to open minds within the Māori world. I was hugely influenced by elders and tohunga like Sir John Turei, Takutai Wikiriwhi, and Haare Williams. It was the depth of their knowledge that I really appreciated, and acknowledge my tuakana Haare for writing the philosophy for our Department of Māori Studies. He was very instrumental and laid out the five values and principles that still hold up Te Noho Kotahitanga today. It was for both Māori and non Māori, and also for all students and employees attending Unitec- Te Whare Wānanga o Wairaka. From there, we set the ball rolling right across the institution. The creation of Te Noho Kotahitanga Marae was a huge project-kaupapa and is something I am very grateful to have been a part of. Haare Williams was the Pae Arahi and the first Māori in any of the education or political institutions to be at the directorate level. It was wonderful having him there. Later, he went into TV, and I was offered the role of Pae Arahi, with a directive to value, appreciate, and foster equality. A lot of history has gone down here at what we now call Te Whare Wānanga o Wairaka. There’s the old psychiatric hospital by Point Chevalier, where the spirits continue their presence around the buildings. I went in there during the 2000s quite regularly, and it’s very sad. Underneath is a dungeon. Historically, what they were doing to contain patients was using all that electoral equipment and chains for the hands and legs; they’re still there. The walls are like an alcove where they put them; the blood is still there from the banging of heads. Oh, boy, when I saw that, I cried really. Ka tau mai te tangi, te maemae, me te aroha i roto i ahau.- I absorb within me the tears, the pain and the love. But there is also the history from long before that. One of my roles is ‘cleansing.’ I’d have students asking me things like, ‘Could you come to my room, because I hear chanting,’ or, ‘I can see a kuia sitting in my chair and can’t sleep.’ I remind them that they are very close to a trail that the spirits walk. The spirits go way back. The first thing I tell them to do is clean up their flat. I invite them to say a little prayer, in Māori or English, to talk to the spirits and ask them to be the caretakers of their flat when they are on leave. During my time here, I have seen an increase in Māori students, and the future for education feels good. Unitec is about to become a new community of high-rise accommodation – and right in the middle is the marae. The whole area will be realigned, and marae protocol may not be observed. I don’t know how it’s going to pan out, but it is happening whether we like it or not. This is a Marae for all – not just for Māori, but for everybody. That’s the reason it was built. There will be changes, we have a new landscape now. It’s a new era. I am concerned. I continue to be involved with Principals and staff of fourteen schools - from primary to secondary - giving support and guidance for openings, closings, and blessings in Mātauranga Maori and Tikanga. I have also been involved in renaming schools with aligning narratives. Equality in education is for all diverse cultures, not just for Māori. How a particular school environment responds to that is wonderful. Every child should have the opportunity to experience mātauranga Māori, tikanga and te reo Māori at primary school. Our children and our grand-children are central to our lives. What pleases me most is seeing how they are becoming more willing and active in seeking the many aspects of their Maori heritage. I always remind them to never forget where they come from and to understand our tikanga. In 2018, I received the Order of Merit Award for services to Māori thanks to Unitec who initiated the application. There was a big welcome at Government House. The entire process was very formal, regal, and indeed very special. The karanga and mihi whakatau gave credence to the historical significance of the Tiriti o Waitangi. Interaction with Governor General, Patsy Reddy was the highlight. I was called up, the citation was read out, and then [we were] ushered into a room by ourselves for photos –and there before me were large portraits of the British Monarchy. Here I was receiving the Queen’s Award! On one hand, I’m getting this great honor—oh, very impressive!—but on the other hand, I couldn’t help but think of colonisation. So much of our land was pinched, all Māori land, and here are the colonists, right in my face, looking at me! But I looked at my mokos, my whole family who were with me, and I knew I needed to accept and appreciate being there and acknowledge the history. I couldn’t help but be grateful for the taonga that my mother and father gave me all those years ago, ‘We think it’s time you go back to school.’ I went to St. Stephen’s and the rest is history. It is tikanga for Māori to return to their birthplace on their passing. I always enjoy visiting my parents, grandparents, and family there. When I go home, they say, ‘We can put you up there,’ in our cemetery, Ahuriri. That’s my parents, my grandparents, my brother, my relatives—the whole lot of them – but they’re not my wife. While I respect the words of my elders, I don’t want to be way up there and Mary way over here. We have been married for fifty-five years. We need to be together, forever. _________________________ Foot note: After 32 years, I am grateful and give thanks to all my colleagues from Te Whare Wānanga o Wairaka for all their support, manaaki and aroha. Finally, I give grateful thanks and blessings to my wife Mary for being the inspirational pillar of our whanau, a wonderful mother to our two children, and the loving, caring grandmother to our three grand-daughters.