Rob's mate loved Taranaki - the land, the mountain, the people, and especially the rugby team.
OPINION
“Ko mana tōku maunga,
Ko aroha te moana,
Ko whānau tōku waka,
Ko au e tū atu nei.
Mana is my mountain,
And aroha is my sea,
Whānau is my waka,
And all of that is me.”
The simple, beautiful words of Six60′s waiata Pepeha. Words that to me embody what it is to be living in this beautiful land we all call home. Words that perhaps describe what is important to many New Zealanders, probably without us often thinking about it.
Some months ago I attended the funeral of a very old friend in New Plymouth, a man I had known all my adult life. He was a carpenter, a police officer, a farmer, an insurance man, a very good sportsman.
But most of all he was a loving son, husband, father and grandfather. He was also my mate.
He was, deep down, a Taranaki country man. He loved Taranaki - the land, the mountain, the people, and especially the rugby team.
My mate knew his time was near so, being the great organiser he was, he planned his last public appearance in minute detail. I had the honour and privilege of delivering his eulogy. The service was packed with many Taranaki sportspeople. As funerals go, it was well-organised. The funeral service was delivered by another old friend.
It came time for my mate to go on his last parade, carried by his brothers and sons. He made his way to the hearse to the sound of Pepeha. It broke my heart. I knew deep down, my old mate was a spiritual guy, a real softy under his sometimes hard demeanour. But those beautiful words above said more about my mate than any words I could have said.
We had much in common. We were both descended from tough West Country people who settled in Taranaki in the mid-19th century following the ravages of the Industrial Revolution on farming folk in England. Many of the settlers, like our forebears, were agricultural labourers, farmers, rural folk.
Unemployed in their own lands and not willing to live in the toxic industrialised world of Victorian British cities, they wanted a country life - hence, the colonies for them.
Generations swept by, about four, before my mate and I turned up. Our families were well-settled in their new country, with me having the joy of living a bit in two worlds, Pākehā and Māori.
My mate and I did see the world through different eyes despite our similarities, having the same schooling, same faith, same training in life.
His connection to the land was deep. He loved farming and loved the land. He farmed near Whanganui and at Ōkato, near our mountain. He was a good farmer, a country boy.
When Pepeha started I thought, ‘Mate, you old so-and-so. You kept that part of yourself private.’ Yes, I had a tear for my friend. But I was not alone. Some very big tough men had something in their eyes when Pepeha got under way.
You see, being a New Zealander can be a complex business. It’s very unwise to judge people by the way they look and the way they live. None of us really knows what our fellows think, or how they see their world. They might tell you some stuff, but maybe they won’t either. It’s just private.
We need words like Pepeha to make us think about who we are and what we want our country to become in the future for our descendants.
We need to know that we all must work together. We face huge challenges in the coming years - the economy and climate change. We must face these challenges as people who know their place in this world. Not look inward too much.
More than two dozen firefighters battled the fire at its peak.
