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New Zealand is famous today for its spaciousness, varied scenery, peacefulness, friendliness. Historically it is famous for its Maori culture. The descendants of the Maori people may still be recognisable facially, but they have been integrated with the western settlers; there are only memories of conflict. The Maoris can trace their ancestry to the homelands of Hawaiki and the great Polynesian navigator Kupe, who led his people to New Zealand in the ninth century.
Towards the end of our tour we stayed at Paihia in the Bay of Islands. Our hotel was in the same grounds as the Waitangi Treaty House, where in 1840 the Treaty was signed between the Maori Chiefs and the British Crown. The Maori history was dramatised at a night show in the grounds and in the Carved House. Maori warriors challenged, then greeted the visitors with a tribal dance. The one thousand year old saga was told through the eyes of a grandfather speaking to his granddaughter.
The production has been praised for lacking the commercialism of tourist entertainments. Some critical members of the audience thought it was also lacking in professional polish. However, the amateur element added to the authentic atmosphere. At the end, the granddaughter, a lively little actress, went round solemnly rubbing noses with the audience. Afterwards we talked to young people who had danced and sung in the chorus, and they told us how they had auditioned and toured, giving performances two or three nights weekly.
The Treaty was an attempt to resolve the conflict between the native Maoris and the western settlers, whose numbers increased as they heard stories of Captain Cook. The Maoris recognised the Queen of England as their sovereign and in return received rights and protection as British citizens, but communication was difficult between such different cultures, leading to manipulation, as much of the meaning seems to have been ‘lost in translation’.
I learned much of the nineteenth century conflict from a book with which I travelled around: Green Dolphin Country by Elizabeth Goudge. This is a work of fiction, but it is based on detailed research. I first read the book about fifty years ago, and I remembered the characters, romance and adventure. It is the story of William, a young man who confuses the names of two sisters, Marianne and Marguerite, both in love with him, and proposes marriage to the wrong one. A note tells the reader that this may seem highly improbable but that it happened, and that in real life, as in the book, the man held his tongue and made a good job of the marriage. The plot alternates between the lives of the two sisters. Marguerite, believing herself rejected by William, becomes first a Catholic, then a nun, finally Mother Superior. She is sympathetic and lovable, but Marianne, the wife, the pioneer, is more complex. There is religious conflict at a family level between the Catholic and Protestant sisters, but, reading the book again, as I travelled through the land where once there was bitter conflict between the Maoris and the British, I became much more aware of the religious and cultural dimensions.
Goudge embodies the different viewpoints in the characters, their memories, beliefs and actions. Veronique, the daughter of William and Marianne, is aware of conflict, after the Treaty, between her mother and Samuel, a parson who had come originally from a poor family in Manchester: ‘Mamma…had been very angry with Bishop Selwyn, the Bishop of New Zealand, because he had taken the part of the Maoris who had come back from the long journey and not been pleased to find English people living on their land. Mamma had said that she loved the Maoris as much as the Bishop did, but after all they were not white, and must be kept in their places…and the way the Bishop behaved…was most undignified and a disgrace to his cloth. And Uncle Samuel had said that it might be undignified but it was very Christ-like, …and then he and Mamma had made such a noise arguing that Veronique and Aunt Susanna had fled to the kitchen to make dough babies.’
Later Samuel’s own viewpoint is employed to justify a decision which influences the manner of his death. He has been tricked and captured by the Maoris, but he knows that his death – by Maori standards – will be merciful: he will be hurled over the edge of a precipice: ‘ “Let go!” he cried… “For the glory of my God I’ll jump without your help…The Maori people have given me hospitality, for which I thank them…And to you, Tiki, I owe my thanks for mercy in my death…’ Then…commending his soul to God and his body to the keeping of earth, he ran and leaped and fell.’ His attitude and action are interpreted by the viewpoint of a friend, who ‘thought that Samuel had rushed upon his death with a fanaticism that most men would have thought sheer madness. His mind would admit of no extenuating circumstances as it sat in judgment, for it could find no relief for its pain except in contemplation of two clear-cut pictures of black and white…The blacker he painted the figures of Samuel’s murderers the more outlet had he for his hate and the more love-worthy shone the figure of his friend.’
Goudge gives multiple viewpoints; she does not use a narrative voice to make valued judgments. She does, however, use humour to express scepticism, through the voice of Old Nick, a parrot. The book ends as Marianne feels triumphant but expresses humility: ‘She had got him at last. The triumph of it! Oh, the triumph of it!... “And I’ll never be proud again, William,” she whispered brokenly yet proudly in his arms. “Never, never again.” There was a derisive squawk from the birdcage hanging in the window. “Oh my!” ejaculated Old Nick in mocking tones. And then, very doubtfully indeed, “Oh my?” ’
I would like to visit New Zealand again, but it is a very long flight. However, I shall read Green Dolphin Country yet again.
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