Autobiography of Mary Gundry Wi Repa.

The year was 1904/5. I remember a slab house built by my father Arthur Lakolo Gundry that contained two rooms. It had an earthen floor and the bedroom had half the floor made from the timber of wooden boxes. It had an iron double bed and a wicker cot that fascinated me because of its fancy work. The fireplace was made of pongas from the bush. It was rather wide so that the flames would not burn the sides. All the cooking was done in camp ovens over an open fire.

We had two cows named Mary and Nellie. My mother Alice Wade Gundry would walk them whilst papa was away working for local farmers.

This home was many miles away from neighbours. At night the Moreporks would make their nocturnal calls. Across the creek from our place lived my Aunt Harriet Olivia, my father’s older sister. She had a large family.

I had a brother Arthur who was older than myself by four years. We would play sailing boats made from raupo in the nearby creek. Toys were made from whatever material was about.

We had an orchard where my father grafted trees. I remember one time, he cut a limb from a tree and replaced it with another. He wrapped it around with earth and bound it with rags. The orchard flourished. In spring when the buttercups were in full bloom, bees would be buzzing around busily. I would dance among the flowers that would be waist high. It was heavenly.

One night I needed a drink of water. We had none in the house, and my mother did not want to go to the creek that was quite a distance away. Some time during the night I got out of bed and wandered outside whilst asleep. My mother came out and found me outside our door with my arms around a willow tree.

When my father came home from work he would bring comics that delighted us. One particular evening he brought me a doll. Dolls were one of my passions. Nothing could have been nicer. I visualised them in beautiful dresses and wonderful surroundings. I had several dolls, from little to big. Some were twelve inches tall and all of them were nicely dressed.

I loved my father very much. Should his shirts have any buttons missing, I would find the prettiest buttons in my mother’s sewing box and sew them on to make my papa look pretty. I thought he was always pleased with my small efforts.

My mother was very capable. We had to ride in a spring cart into town that was about fifteen miles away. We crossed many streams and rivers. It was unbroken country at that time and really wild. On this particular trip we found a sheep lying on its back. My mother passed the reins to me to hold and got down. When she pushed the sheep over it kicked her on the nose which caused it to bleed. I thought she was going to die. I cried and cried and my mother too. However, we got to town eventually.

My grandmother’s house (Katerina Takoto) to me was the most beautiful place in the world. It had such lovely things, from the table lamps of kerosene to the bowls hand painted with roses. My granny kept her home scrupulously clean and polished.

She had a beautiful dinner set. Her huge meat dishes were arranged along the walls. These things were always a wonder to me. The living room had elephants along the whole length of the shelf (these items were brought back by my uncle who went on a tour of India in 1901).

Granny also had some paintings on glass. The first was of herons standing in a swamp and the other, a lady reclining in a canoe with a man rowing around waterlilies. The scenes were beautiful. She also had roses painted on American leather. These glorious flowers were beautifully painted by one of her daughters Frances Helena.

A big bible stood on a little corner shelf. We were never allowed to touch it without having clean hands. It was holy and our hands had to be washed before and after touching it. That was a ritual with my grandmother.

Her iron bed had a starched valance. The washstand also had starched covers with hand crochet of which granny was adept. Her curtains were even crocheted as were the pillows, shawls and the chambers that sat on lace.

There was always washing, ironing and the starching of clothes. I wore calico aprons, smothered in frills that were all starched. My brother wore Eton collars that were starched stiff. We loved them and felt most elegant. I wore button up boots and had hair the length of my dresses.

Having my hair combed was a most painful process because of its length. My hair would grow very quickly. Our upbringing was very strict. A Governess who believed in keeping a switch on the table had brought up my mother. With us, whoever misbehaved got a good rap and we were taught to eat what was placed before us, ask no questions and say grace before meals. Prayers at night were said out loud to ensure they were being heard.

One of my cousins, many years older than I, went with an uncle who was a pilot to sound the bar. The seas became rough and he was drowned. When they found his body they brought him home to my granny and laid him out. To me, this time, was the most dreadful thing to ever happen. Everyone was crying. I felt so helpless. I watched people coming and going but I was too dried out to cry. The impression of loss never left me. I was to lose my own father only two years later.

We eventually left the farm that my parents started. My father had a house in town so that we could go to school. He made my mother promise to baptise us as Catholics after he had gone which my mother agreed to do. I am now seven years of age and my brother is eleven years old. The catholic priest takes us in hand and starts to teach us catechism.

My mother decides to go to Auckland to be among her own people. I felt that this was something important. I was sorry to leave my granny Katerina, but to me I was going to see the world.

Auckland was a great first impression, especially the wharves. The cabs that lined the harbour was a most welcome sight and a ride in one was just lovely. It felt too good and a terrible fear crept over me that mama might not have enough money to pay the fare. But that fear was to subside.

When we arrived at her mothers place at Dominion Road, Mt Eden, (which was another lovely house), a strict and formidable looking granny known as Ellen Wilson Wade gave me the creeps. She was a very beautiful but tiny woman (being five foot tall), perfectly proportioned with creamy coloured skin whose word I was to learn later was law. She lived in a big house and her timber bed had a canopy over it. Curtains hung down the sides. I felt like a little worm in this bed as I had to sleep with her. It was not comfortable.

She never slapped us but this is where we learned to scrub floors and clean it must be “The wood work must be white!”. This grandmother had a great mania for everything getting a good scrub. The first time she spoke we had to obey. If we didn’t her second look would be scorching.

This grandmother indulged in breeding bull terriers. I thoroughly disliked them. Their quarters had to be cleaned every day by my brother who thought that the indignity of it meant that the world had come to an end.

We were both sad. My mother decided we would be better off in school. I went into the ‘Star of the Sea’ that turned out to be an orphanage. It later burnt down. My brother went into St. Josephs. I cried and cried so much that the Prefect came to my bed and said I was not to cry as I was upsetting all the other little girls. I got worse. Then the Reverend Mother came along and warned me to be quiet. But I was beyond human aid. I cried myself to sleep.

There were about a hundred children in the orphanage ranging from babies to young women of twenty years. The older girls would help to look after the younger ones. I had two cousins here. Their mother had died and their father could not look after them. The long refectory tables had a long calico cloth with mugs and enamel plates. I could hardly eat. We had porridge and milk, no sugar, a slice of bread and butter and a mug of boiled milk. I looked at the other little girls and felt so sorry for them. The feelings and the experience from at that time never left me.

My mother came to see me. I cried so much she took both my brother and I out of our schools. We went back to our grandmother and the dogs. Still it was better than the school but not for long. We went to school again at Mt Albert Primary where the children were not used to Maoris. They teased us unmercifully “nigger, nigger, pull the trigger”. I cried again until I dried up.

My grandmother taught me to sew dolls dresses. I loved that work very much. The stitches had to be very tiny and neat with no raw seams. I also loved flowers, especially those on fences along the road belonging to someone else, and if a garden was extra lovely and unusual, I would sneak in as far as I could. One place I roamed into had glass houses and pot plants by the dozen. I had never seen anything like it. It got so over powering I could not get out fast enough. No one frightened me but it was like taking a peep into some ones insides. I breathed a sigh of relief on the road straight home. This cured my curiosity for some time.

Not far from my grandmothers home was a zoo. At night you could hear the lions roar. The animals felt so close. I never felt safe. The little girls belonging to the caretaker used to play with me but I was always afraid of their surroundings, in case the animals got out.

One day my grandmother went away to visit her relations and left me with some people who owned a shop. They put me in their spare room. It was a beautiful room and the house had a hand basin and toilet. The house was spotlessly clean and the windows heavily lace curtained. These people had no children of their own and I was a novelty. I behaved well and they wanted to keep me. Alas, my grandmother came back and I had to go home.

My mother had work but she had to be away most of the time. She decided that we should return to Opotiki and to our lovely old granny we loved so much. Our granny was getting slower in her movements. She would have been, at that time in her eighties. Even then you could see that she was a very grand and stately person of small stature with blue-grey eyes.

I go back to our local convent and start music lessons on the piano. I did not make great progress. Whenever I went to have my lessons an overwhelming excitement would surge through me. I would strike the wrong note and I would get a good rap with a long pencil. Lessons became a sort of nightmare.

The greatest thrill was listening to the older girls practising scales and their songs well. The Norwegian Cradle song, Hearts and Flowers, Meditations by Gabriel Morel, Remembrance, Rondezvous and many of these old melodies sounded so dreamy. They linger in my mind still in a haunting way. When I hear them played over the radio I weep inwardly for they turn back the pages of my memory to my childhood and the days that are no more.

My mother decides to marry again (Albert Ryland) and my brother feels he should go to work. He is only twelve years old. He takes a position milking cows on a farm at ten pounds a week.

My school has a concert to raise funds. I needed a white dress and shoes so my Aunt Francis Helena makes my dress with white Swiss embroidery. When my cousin Annie who was the same age saw my dress looking so nice while her own dress was cream serge with a pleated skirt she cried and said her dress was ugly. This made me feel bad. My poor brother bought my shoes out of his wages. They were white suede. I was humbly grateful in my mind but a distinct sadness seemed so near to these pleasures as we were so poor those days and to have something luxurious seemed too great at the expense of a need. Never-the-less this time was one of the highlights of my life.

The concert came off in great style. I opened my mouth so big it was large enough to swallow all the frogs in a pond. I was so excited that the girls behind me kept pulling and pinching me to stop my yelling.

It seemed to me that boarding school occupants have a habit of doing something awful to a new boarder and one of their annoying antics was to pancake the bed (to double up the sheet so that you could not stretch out your legs). The other annoyance was to tie the corner of the blankets with a long string and when the person fell asleep, pull all the blankets off. One girl who became a victim was a heavy sleeper. Her nightgown had worked its way up around her waist leaving her bottom uncovered. When her blankets were pulled off everyone laughed and giggled. One of the nuns came in and saw what happened. I did not feel sorry for the culprits who were immediately sent down into the schoolroom for two hours of punishment.

My poor mother tried many ways to please me. I wanted to board in the Convent so my brother agreed to help pay. He left the cow milking and went contracting with my stepfather Albert to get bigger wages. So into the Convent I go. This is what I wanted. I was taught the subjects that interested me such as English, Drawing, History and Poetry but if the teacher was the driving kind I never learned at all. Arithmetic was also never my line even today.

I remember one day one of the tomboy girls climbed a willow tree at the back of the yard. One of the boys came along, looked up and saw Juny and yelled out loudly “Juny has no pants on” to the delight of all the children about. Juny promised Henry she would attend to him after school. Later that day, Juny laid in wait for Henry. He had forgotten all about it but Juny hadn’t. She crept up behind him with a batten and whacked him hard on the back. He fell and she bolted. When Henry recovered there was no one in sight.

Our Convent was walled with ten-foot iron all around. There were nail holes where we could peep through and watch what was going on outside. The older girls in the group always talked about certain boys who attended church. The stories amused me greatly. I was allowed to listen because I never repeated what they said.

I did a lot of drawn thread work here to dodge lessons. Most times the cook in the kitchen used to treat me royally with cups of teas and cakes until the Reverend Mother found out. I was soon returned to the schoolroom.

I was always chosen to clean the altars and arrange the flowers on Saturdays. I seemed to have a natural flair for that type of work but not because I was learned in this area. Instinctively some inner voice would say ‘no, its not right’ and I would keep re-arranging until I got balance. I was always particular about flowers and would single out the flowers that were strong in colour or big in size.

I loved polishing the brassware and there were many candlesticks for the altar. I also did hand sewing as well. My own petticoats were scalloped at the edge and flowers were hand embroidered all around the hem, neck and armholes. Sometimes these were in colour and other times, in all white depending on my mood. The warmer petticoats were crocheted in wool usually in a shell pattern. My grandmother taught me this ability.

School never amused me as there was too much discipline. I always fancied myself outside roaming in the paddocks riding horses of which I was very adept. My father was a racehorse man and we had many on the farm. One day while the Sister was giving us catechism, there was a large window behind her. I saw the gardeners driving the cows to their paddocks. The sun was shining. I fancied myself right behind them. What a sense of freedom I felt imagining. All of a sudden the Sister asked a question. For some unknown reason I raised my hand. She pointed to me and horrors of horrors I did not know the question. Out I went and I got a good strapping as a reminder to pay attention. But even though I never forgot that lesson, it never cured me of my romancing.

A travelling show came to town and the children belonging to it came to the Convent. A big girl, about twelve years of age recited poetry. I can still see that girl today dressed in a plain black velvet frock. Her heart and soul poured into that poem. The intensity was dramatic. The next girl, with a mop of red curly hair floating about her shoulders with freckles sang and she did the Sailors Hornpipe and an Irish jig. She had a thin reedy voice that carried to the far corners of the room. Another wee girlie about six years of age did a dance in clogs. She captured everybody’s heart. We clapped and clapped. She was really beautiful and I think the people in the show enjoyed us too because of their willingness to repeat each item, but the Sister’s put a stop to our exuberance as the performers had to perform again that night.

Into our room came an Assyrian girl one day. She would have been about sixteen years of age, straight from her country. She sat in front of me and had to learn English. She was very pretty with curls that hung down her shoulders. I often thought she looked funny amongst us, as she was so big. There was a large family of Assyrians attending school, about six altogether (four boys and two girls). The boys were demons for mischief. The two eldest of the boys would screw up their faces to make the others laugh while they were having catechism. The priest caught one of them and pushed him out in front of the class into a corner while the lesson continued on. The Father thought he was out of the road. But while the Father was busy, the boy would turn around and poke his tongue out. All eyes would turn that way and the Father caught him. He was so angry he threw him outside to everyone’s delight. It was so easy to amuse small minds back then.

Their father had a flourishing business by the time these children became adults. They were each employed in the business but they all got the sack because of their mischievous ways. They never missed an opportunity to do something wrong.

At this time, my mother decided to go back to Auckland and I go along with her. We stay with Grandma Ellen and back to the Convent I go. During this time the school decides to put on a concert to welcome one of the head nuns who was paying us a visit. I was found suitable to be in the class and so I learnt the Sailors Hornpipe. A special dance teacher was employed to teach us and I still remember my steps to this day. I learnt thirteen movements altogether. I find that the same dance developed later became more definite with heavier footwork corresponding almost with step or tap dancing. In my early days we were required to dance as light as a fairy with not a sound to be heard.

I leave the Convent in 1918 but I am still with my Granny Ellen who owns the dogs (my mother’s mother). She managed to get me work in an office working for a licensed native interpreter, translating Maori into English. I had to learn to use a typewriter. The wages were poor 7/- a week. I could not afford to buy myself any clothes.

Motion pictures had arrived by this time and it was only 3d to go. I spend what time I had free in the cinema. The impact of Countess Olga in Dantes Inferno took me some time to shake off. The fear that this movie instilled in me was HELL itself. To this day it makes me shudder when I recall the different types of punishment they had for the various sins such as suicide, lust for gold and the sinful lusts of the flesh.

After translating for awhile I realised that I would have to find other employment. I found employ in a boarding house as a kitchen maid washing dishes and scrubbing floors like I had at the school I had left. It seemed to me that there were always mountains of dishes and pots - stacks that were higher than myself. However, I stayed there awhile. I was still wearing school clothes but I put the hat aside. It was here that I bought my first pair of high heeled shoes. I was fourteen years of age wearing lace up boots with a Cuban heel. I was a lady at last. I often turned around to see the heels of these shoes. To me they were so beautiful.

I left this job eventually to go to a seaside place on Kawau Island fifty miles from Auckland by boat. When the proprietor saw me she said I was too small. But, as they were short handed they took me in. I managed to get through with the work and stayed until I earned enough to get out. I returned to Auckland. My brother by this time was working for a big meat firm called Hallaby’s. I stayed at his boarding house with him for awhile and met up with an Australian lady who came out in search of a Maori Prince. She was on her way to Rotorua to find him. I told her jokingly, that the Princes were usually sunbathers strumming ukuleles with little else to their credit and that their mothers went to work. She could not bring herself to believe me. I did not see her ever again. I always wondered whether she found her Prince Charming.

I moved to Rotorua for a time and got employment at the local hospital that paid L-1-15-0 as laundress and house maid. I learnt to dance whilst working there. I had two teachers, one who taught National dancing (the Highland Fling and the Sailors Hornpipe) and the other Ballet and Egyptian with Irene Marsh at the Grand Hotel. Irene’s parents were the proprietors. All my wages went to pay for these lessons. I practised in my room until the cook, on hearing the noise, came to find out and said to me ‘what the hell are you doing”. I could not help but see the humorous side of it. I taught the Matron how to Jazz dance which was popular then because there were medico dances once a year. She was a rather shy sort of person and rather large and stiff. We used a gramaphone for the music.

To add to my list of talents I thought that I should buy myself a steel guitar (on terms) and started to learn (to my sorrow). I could not play a tune without a lot of practise so I decided that I should leave it alone. I found out how hard on the fingers it could be.

After a long absence away, I returned home to see my granny Katerina and I worked there for a farmer for a while. This work gave me an insight into farming life, which I concluded is a great strain when you have to milk 145 cows night and morning. The cow boys were a source of interest to me but the lady of the house was rather mean. The boys did not quite get enough to eat so on the quiet I lassoed extra rations until I got caught. I got a good scolding.

At this time I also took in pupils for dancing. The first applicant was a girl of about sixteen. She was physically perfect, but I could not produce a Pavlova so we switched to the Hula and she was away. The dear lady like myself has a lot of grandchildren now. In those days I did solos for concerts and fitted in whenever there was a need. People those times were not so inspired as they are today. But I think the fun back then was a lot greater.

From farming life I decided that marriage was perhaps a rest from work. When I made this decision I would have been about nineteen. This is where I really learned that heavenly bliss is no bed of roses. It has many thorns and sharp they are! Consequently, the matrimonial seas have proved to be mountainous and the storms have not abated. However, the challenge appeals in some aspects.

My first little boy (Edward) makes his appearance, a charming child. The second boy (Arthur), handsome and independent wants to be an Architect. Arthur learns art and is commissioned by the Inspectors of the Department to do six paintings to send to Switzerland in exchange for the best from their schools. He has not done anymore since, but he has flair for cartooning around the cow shed walls to charm the cows.

A sister to the boys follows (Kathleen). She is also interested in art and the Sisters of the Convent get her to do the drawings for her class and also for the Church. She learns music and is adept at Maori action songs and the Poi dances.

Kathleen Wi Repa has passed on to higher intelligence. One of her paintings are down in the south island. A good artist here.

Rosemary Connell – she paints too.

Bernadette Wi Repa – this one is a slice of George Elliott. She will paint the portraits of my family for the book if I can keep her at it for she is most temperamental. She played the grand piano in the Town Hall Rotorua for one of the festivals a few years back. She is tiny, only four feet ten inches tall. You could hardly see her at the piano. The noise rolled out just the same. She used the keyboard from one end to the other.