The Order of Marist return to Mission Estate

By DITA DE BONI

Stamping his gnarled Irish blackthorn walking-stick on the ground, Brother Martin Williams remembers the day, well over a decade ago, that a fellow brother foretold the future of their seminary at the Mission Estate in Napier.

"We will all be gone," he said. "You'll be here to see it, but I'll be gone."

Reflecting on that prophecy, Brother Marty - as he is known - sighs nostalgically and waves his stick in a wide circle to emphasise the grandeur of the place. He is here but, as foreshadowed, the Order is gone from the Mission. "When I come here all the memories come flooding back."

The recently refurbished seminary building, atop a prominent hill overlooking its vineyards, Napier and the city's sweeping foreshore, is a stunning spot. The vines are still flourishing - more vines than ever, in fact. But their purpose as a sideline for young men intent on becoming emissaries of God has changed.

Ten years ago, the Marists stopped harvesting God's fruit in the vineyards and olive groves and tending His creatures in the chook house and aviary. They had already abandoned their cassocks and collars for everyday wear, and Latin prayers no longer reverberated across the Estate's beautifully manicured lawns at 6 am.

Now, an occasional shotgun blast to warn birds away from the vines might be the only thing to puncture the early morning silence. So far removed from the Estate's cerebral beginning has it come that its beautiful wooden chapel serves as a marquee for a stream of weddings over summer, a non-denominational retreat for those caught out by the vagaries of Napier's weather.

Brother Marty was the last of the Order of St Mary to live and do physical labour at the Estate, which shifted its seminary to Auckland in 1992, and returns today as a visitor. He served as a tour guide about the place for nine years after the seminary closed: a role he is only too willing to re-enact, emitting a rapid-fire barrage of facts and figures which leaves the listener so overloaded with information that a glass or two of the Estate's best white is required to recover.

Not only a venue redolent with old-world charm and history, but a multi-million-dollar wine business with 62.5ha of prime Hawkes Bay grape-growing real estate, the Estate winery's prime raison d'etre these days is to sustain around 180 Marist Brothers and Fathers (ordained priests) in their charitable work throughout New Zealand. This support extends to sponsorship of new trainees who now complete their studies in a broad range of subjects from commerce to science; a far cry from the heady days of 80 new recruits each year, the Marist student population now numbers six.

This month, Brother Marty and the other members of the Order of St Mary who have not yet been "called to God" will come together at Napier's Mission Estate to celebrate a multi-million-dollar refurbishment and blessing of their old digs. The sophisticated tasting rooms, plush facilities and yearly concerts featuring Dame Kiri Te Kanawa or Julio Iglesias keep the Order going, but the commercial thrust of the old seminary is noted with "mixed feelings" by Brother Marty.

"I have accepted the changes here with good grace, I know they are acceptable. The Church has changed, society has changed. But I do feel a bit of sadness at it," he says.

The Marists have a long history in New Zealand. A Catholic religious order founded after the French Revolution in 1789, it is distinguished from other orders by its particular reverence for the Virgin Mary.

The first Marists to New Zealand - led by the young country's first Catholic bishop, Jean-Baptiste Pompallier - landed in the Hokianga in 1838. After a dispute over where to establish themselves, a splinter group moved to Hawkes Bay, basing themselves at Meeanee, 8km from the present Mission site.

The flat lands of Meanee flooded at the turn of the century and the seminary was moved to its present site at the top of a hill overlooking its lands, known as Greenmeadows.

The floods were the first of a string of disasters. In 1929 a fire gutted part of the operation; the original brick chapel collapsed in the 1931 earthquake, crushing five members to death. Today the stones that killed the men have been used to form a grotto underneath the seminary, a shaft of light illuminating a crucifix and crystalline pool of water.

On the first floor, photos dating back over 100 years dot the walls; smiling men with weighty names like Pius, Joachim and Alphonsus can be seen proudly displaying their harvests, toiling in the fields and walking in orderly lines to their studies in scenes reminiscent of medieval France. They are buried in a communal grave close by.

Brother Marty remembers his years at the Mission Estate seminary with fondness. The men's days started with prayers in Latin at 6 am, followed by a half-hour mass, a "hearty" breakfast, then the day's work - the vineyard for many, but farming, cooking and other chores were also carried out at the self-sufficient property. Recreational activities were strictly scheduled and included Bible and other reading, table tennis and, later on, television for those who felt so inclined.

"Boredom and frustration crept in sometimes," says Brother Marty. "But we had some trips, some picnics with the students, for example. Some, of course, didn't make it and dropped out for their own personal reasons, and others were asked to leave when it was clear they would not make the grade."

The prurient interest that modern society takes in a fairly secluded order of healthy young men who have voluntarily taken vows of poverty, chastity and obedience appears to wash over Brother Marty. He agrees that many in society today might find concept of seminary living difficult to comprehend but is adamant the men he lived with were "good men, great men who have gone on to be great people in society. But they are also - I am also - an ordinary man. We have the same challenges as everyone else."

Which might explain why others suggest there was a "well-worn track" between the seminary and the convent of nuns who lived just over the hill from the Estate.

It's hard to imagine Brother Marty taking part in any of these alleged shenanigans. His great loves - besides God - are history, learning, and Rome, where he spent four years.

H E PREDICTS the Brothers and Fathers who are gathering at the Mission this week will be impressed with the latest upgrade of the buildings, complete with original floorboards that hail from the mid-1800s.

No one is awaiting that seal of approval more keenly than Estate chief executive Peter Holley, who had to pitch his case for the Order to reinvest $2.5 million in its prime asset more than two years ago.

Holley is a tall, burly South African and non-Catholic (Brother Marty says the chief executive could be "Greek with one eye and a wooden leg ... and doesn't need to be a Catholic"). He was hired by the Marists in 1996 to bring the winery and the Order's holding company, Marist Holdings, under one manager, as well as to grow the business.

The Mission, which is a charitable trust and therefore does not have to pay company tax, will not reveal its sales, but Holley says the winery makes 70,000 cases of wine a year, which the Herald estimates to bring in around $8-$9 million a year. At the moment most of the company's wine sales are local, but it is hoping to grow its exports to about a quarter of its production.

Holley defends the Estate's charitable-trust status, saying the winery helps provide for the needy through the work of the Marists, and that the group has a "responsibility to be good stewards. The feeling is the asset is a God-given piece of land and it is a sin not to use it to its full capacity."

He has a dividend he must make to the Order each year from the vineyard's takings - "kind of like a sales target" - and takes the job of meeting that target very seriously.

He is confident that the Order, which has foregone some of its takings to refurbish the Estate and grow its earnings potential according to Holley's vision, has made the right decision. Nevertheless, "I dream of priests with empty plates and bowls sometimes, which gives me nightmares," he jokes.

Profitable side-businesses have developed from an intensive marketing campaign to pitch the Estate as an international and local tourist destination. Its recently opened restaurant offers spectacular views of the city; tastings and cellar-door sales remain steady; museum-type attractions, as well as a hotel, are slated for the venue.

And of course, the yearly concerts have put the Mission on the map, even though last year's event, which drew a sold-out crowd of 20,000 and featured Engelbert Humperdinck and the Seekers, was the first to receive mixed reviews of its performers.

But it is the intangible feel of Mission Estate that sets it apart from other Hawkes Bay wineries, many of which also offer spectacular views and, increasingly, eating, catering and event facilities.

It's a feeling that you've stepped into a piece of French-flavoured Victoriana, complete with sundial, fountains, and hedges manicured within an inch of their lives. It is the story of a ghost which haunts the upper storey of the old seminary, the seemingly ancient wine barrels, and a strong sense of the string of calamities which have plagued the winery since it was established in 1851, including almost being sold off in the 1990s.

Early in the morning, Holley takes us up the tree-lined boulevard leading to the Estate, which is commanding enough to have often been used by film crews. Some workmen fixing the gas mains by the gate are cooking sausages in an electric frypan and Holley points out that some "clowns" have stolen letters off the gate.

The disarray of this scene displeases him: he's eager that the Estate is upgraded to match its grand surroundings, and is working round the clock to ensure everything is ready for the religious blessing that it will receive when the Order officially revisits its old stomping ground this week.

Later that day, Brother Marty takes us to the same spot but is blithely unaware of the workers frying up, the misspelt gate signs and other unfinished corners of the Estate which are the signs of a business on the move.

Where still others might see a profitable vineyard on prime real estate, he sees a monument to God's beneficence.

"I can still hear 80 students reciting their prayers in Latin, I can still see them working hard in these vines," he says.

"We have been blessed."