Katherine Mansfield, The Woman Behind The Books (Including Letters, Journals, Essays & Articles)
utterly disappointing after Nmuroa which was fascinating in the extreme. The Maoris were () some English and some Maori — not like the other natives. All these people dress in almost English clothes compared with the natives here. And they wear a great deal of ornament in Muroa and strange hair fashions. So we journey from their whare to Waiotapu. A grey day and I drive long dusty thick road and then before us is Tarawera,* with great white clefts — the poverty of the country — but the gorgeous blue mountains all around us in a great stretch of burnt manuka. We lunch and begin to decide whether to go to the Wharepuni. The men folk go, but eventually come back and say that the walk was too long — also the heat of the day — but there is a great pah, 1½ miles away. There we go. The first view — a man on the side of the road — in a white shirt and brown pants — waits for us. Opposite is a thick () Maori fence — in the distance across the paddock, whares clustered together like snails upon the green patch. And across the paddock a number of little boys come straggling along, from the age of twelve to three, out at elbow, bare-footed, indescribably dirty — but some of them almost beautiful — none of them very strong. There is one great fellow Feropa who speaks Eng. Black curls clustering round his broad brow, rest, almost langour in his black eyes — a slouching walk and yet there slumbers in his face passionate unrest and strength.”
The next night they slept outside a whare. Kass found there a girl whom she knew — Walie, who brought them a great bowl of milk, a little cup of cream and some lard — great luxuries for travellers in that wild country. The girl stayed to dine with the caravan: Kass gave her a cigarette; and Walie taught her Maori in return. Kathleen kept a list of Maori words and phrases during that trip. She had always known greeting phrases. (All New Zealanders know them.) And the Pa Man had many from his father, which he had taught the children. But on this journey, Kass acquired something of a vocabulary, learning the words in common use, the names of articles, and dress.
They stayed at the whare until the next midday.”There is something sad about it all,” Kathleen felt, as they left. A week later, Thursday, they were at Rotorua. Letters were awaiting her there, and a telegram from her mother. She answered her mother the next day:
“Friday. “Rotorua.
“Mother dearest
“Thank you for your wire which I received today and for Chaddie’s (Marie’s) lovely letter — So Vera has definitely left; I can hardly realize it. What a strange household you must be feeling.
“You sound most gay at home. I am so glad.
“I wrote to Chaddie on Wednesday. Yesterday was very hot indeed. A party of us went a Round Trip to the Hamurana Spring — the Ottere Falls across Lake Rotoiti to Tikitere and then back here by coach. I confess frankly that I hate going trips with a party of tourists. They spoil half my pleasure — don’t they yours — You know, one lady who is the wit of the day, and is ‘flirty,’ and the inevitable old man who becomes disgusted with everything, and the honey-moon couple. Rotorua is a happy hunting ground for these. We came back in the evening, grey with dust — hair and eyes and clothing — so I went and soaked in the Rachel bath. The tub is very large. It is a wise plan to always use the public one — and there one meets one sex very much ‘in their nakeds’ — Women are so apt to become communicative on these occasions that I carefully avoid them. I came home, dined and went into town with Mrs. (Ibbett). We ended with a Priest Bath — another pleasant thing — but most curious. At first we feel attacked by Dee-pa’s friends — the humble (). The bath is of aerated water — very hot, and you sit in the spring — But afterwards you”
(and there she broke off, leaving the letter unfinished).
Rotorua was a fearful disappointment to Kathleen. It was not at all what she had expected. What did she anticipate in that city of geysers and mud baths? Whatever her preconceived notion of it (and her visual images always were powerful) she was disconcerted at the outset. Always she was a barometer to elusive and usually unperceived differences; and something in the very atmosphere as she approached the place confounded her. The boiling mud baths seemed like great festering “sores upon the earth.” The smell of sulphur, the heat of the steam “disgusted and outraged” her. It was “a little Hell — loathsome and ugly.” Actually it made her so ill with sickening headaches that she had to sit by herself in the town grounds while the others explored the dreadful “wonders of the world.” Later she tried to bathe in the Priest and Rachel baths, but “felt fearfully low.” She, herself, was no less surprised at the strange effect of it all upon her than were the others. In her Note Book she tried to analyse the conflicting inconsistencies of the beauty and the horror:
“On The Journey To Waiotapu.
“In the distance these hills; to the right, almost violet; to the left, grey with rain. Behind, a great mound of pewter colour and silver. Then as we journey, a little line of brilliant green trees and a mound of yellow grass. We stop at a little swamp to feed the horses, and there is only the sound of a frog.
“Intense stillness, almost terrible. Then the mountains are more pronounced. They are still more beautiful, and by and by a little puff of white steam … and by twists and turns in the road we pass several steam holes. Perfect stillness, and a strange red tinge on the cliffs.
“We pass one oily green lake — fantastic blossoming. The air is heavy with sulphur and steam…. By and by we go to see mud volcanos — mount the steps all slimy and green, and peer in. It bulges out of the hole in great blobs of loathsome colour like a terribly grisly sore upon the earth. In a little whirling pool below, a thin coating of petroleum — black with jet — Rain began to fall — She is disgusted and outraged.
“Coming back — the terrible road — the long, long distance — and finally soaking wetness and hunger. Bed and wetness again. The morning is fine but hot — The nearer they get to the town, the more she hates it. Perhaps it is the smell …”
“Thursday.
“The loathsome trip.”
“Friday.
“She is so tired that she sits in the town grounds all morning. That evening — horrid.”
“Saturday.
“Letters…. The quiet afternoon — fearful rain — up to the ankles — the wet camp — the fear of having to move — She thinks Rotorua is loathsome and ugly — that little Hell.”
“Sunday Morning.
“The early start — It seems at each mile post her heart leaps. But as they leave it, the town is very beautiful and Whaha — full of white mist — strangely fanciful …
“Oh, it is too hot where they lunch. She feels so ill — so tired — her headache is most violent — she can barely open her eyes but must lean back, though the jolting of the cart pains her….
“They meet a Maori again, walking along, powerful and strong. She shouted, ‘Tenakoe (good day!).’ …”
“Monday.
“All Sunday the further she went from Rotorua, the happier she became. Towards evening they came to a great mountain — It was very rugged and old and grim, an ancient fighting pah. Here the Maoris had fought, and at the top of this pah a spring bubbled … Then rounding the corner, they saw the Wairakei River, turbulent, and wildly rushing below them …
“They camp in a paddock down by the river — a wonderful spot…. Before them a wide sheet of swift, smooth water — and a poplar tree, and a long straight line of pines…. Just there — on the bank ahead of them — a manuka tree in full blossom leans toward the water. The paddock is full of manuka …
“After dinner … they go through the gates — always there is a thundering sound from afar off —