Rifles echo, a distant drum,
As retribution’s hour begins to come.
At Ngatapa, the place where the shadows loom,
A symphony of destruction, a mournful tune.
Upon the field, where the Armed Constabulary
tread,
The mortar’s voice, a dance with the dead.
In the stillness before the storm’s descent,
A mortar’s whisper, a moment’s lament.
Screams unheard, carried by the breeze,
A haunting chorus, whispered through the
burning trees.
Songs of injustice resound across the plains
Let the breeze carry not just the wails,
But the seeds of change,
Where the past is acknowledged and
compassion remains.
Te Kooti and the whakarau, exhausted, worn thin,
Deprived of water, and sleep from within.
A macabre ballet upon the pa’s knife’s edge,
As the firing squads approach, a solemn pledge.
. . . Death. “Death without a trial, without one
word of defence or inquiry, as to when, where
or how . . .”
The prisoners were taunted in their final hour,
By cruel words, a merciless, unrelenting power.
“Stripped naked and shot like dogs.”
Against the cliff face, the whakarau faced destiny.
A tragedy etched on the nation’s tapestry.
Under the guise of justice, revenge took flight,
The darkest chapter beneath the English flag’s
might.
Justice wept, a silent, mournful rain,
As the bodies fell over the cliff edge,
Under the carpet, their remains were swept,
To this day, their secret location kept.
Pai Marire
Tanith Wirihana Te Waitohioterangi
Tanith’s honours dissertation “Nga Pari Kohuru o Ngatapa: The Empire Strikes Back” is available at: http://dx.doi.org/10.13140/RG.2.2.29110.16961
