Open Writing

So there they were, the folk on the Philip Laing, bobbing about outside the harbour waiting for the pilot, Mr Kettle, to come aboard. Gazing over the sides a desolate sight would have greeted them, unlike the folk on the John Wickliffe who had arrived in the “golden weather” of autumn, they arrived on the edge of winter, the cloud was down and the rain poured as they saw the steep jungle-like scenery around them, no houses, no cleared land, nothing but jungle. They would have mixed feelings as the little boat made its way, under the guidance of Mr Kettle, into the harbour and up its length to anchor alongside the John Wickliffe.

The John Wickliffe had arrived a month earlier on the 23rd of March and she had anchored off Port Chalmers, at the entrance of the harbour, in what they had described as “spring like” weather. A few of the folk aboard went ashore here and one man described his struggle to the top of the hill through bush filled with vines and dense undergrowth “which hindered his progress,” and of seeing so many different birds with so many different songs, unlike those back home. It was no easy climb and his descent was down the bed of a stream in waist deep water where, on finally reaching the shore line, he was forced to spend the night out in the cold. The promised land was perhaps not as promised as it had seemed to be back in Britain.

However the John Wickliffe then made its way to the head of the harbour and anchored in what was to become Dunedin. The settlers from the north, who were supposed to have moved south and cleared the land and prepared shelter for the new immigrants, had not arrived. All that was to be seen were surveyors’ pegs and a few lines which marked out where the streets were to be in the new city. Nevertheless they set to and, with the help of the Maoris in the area and the few white settlers who were already there, they began to prepare for the arrival of the Philip Laing.

What a debt of gratitude the white settler owed to the Maori in those early days. They were shown which plants were edible and which were poisonous, which could be used to cure illnesses and which skin problems, they were taught how to make quick shelters for temporary accommodation and how to prepare and weave flax into clothes and mats and covers. They learnt where the best fish and eels were to be found, which shell fish to look for and which birds made good eating. Too often the white colonialist tended to think that he was bringing civilisation to the native population when, in fact, the native knew far more about the land than he did and had customs which needed to be respected just as much as his. In those very early days the white man and the Maori lived in harmony together.

So on April 15th. 1848, the folk of the Philip Laing finally put their feet on dry land. With winter coming on housing was needed. Two barracks, the “English barracks” for the folk on the John Wickliffe and the “Scottish barracks” for those on the Philip Laing, were hastily thrown together, single men sleeping at one end of the building, single women at the other and the married folk in between, cooking was to be done outside. They were rough buildings which let in the wind and had leaking roofs but it was shelter and shelter was vital as winter began to set in. After the confines of the ship how the folk must have been looking for something better than this, but they could survive for a while longer.

Dunedin winters are harsh, driving rain, gales, frost and snow, yet through it all the men worked on, struggling through the mud and the bush, in a desperate attempt to get things underway. The itinerant workers toiled from dawn to dusk for 3 shillings a day, clearing the tracks which would become the roads and streets of the new city. Those who had already purchased their land headed off to their sites each day to clear and fence and break in the ground ready for the spring sowing, number one priority was to get the seed in for the first harvest.

As the land was cleared dwellings went up, wives and families were eager to join the men on their own land. Some folk had shipped out prefabricated buildings, one such was Thomas Burns who had brought out a prefabricated manse and a hall which was to become the first church and which would also serve as a school, a church where the door would never be barred against any who sought to enter. Those who had to build their own, again with the aid of the Maori, built homes of wattle and daub, thatched with tussock or wood shingle. They were built after the style of the highland croft and, although the floor was only pounded earth and the roof often leaked, it was not long before the smoke began to rise from the chimneys again, just as they had done in the glen. And so a new life in a new world gradually began to take shape.

Quoting from an article in the Otago News, December 1848:

“Nine months ago, and the pioneers of this settlement commenced what seemed to them the endless task of clearing ground for their dwellings and gardens. On every side a wilderness of wood, flax and fern met the eye…now instead of seeing one or two solitary houses, with swampy footpath, the eye is gladdened with a goodly sprinkling of houses, some of wood, some of mud and grass; whilst numerous gardens, well fenced and cleared, and one street, at least showing a broad track from end to end of the future town, gives evidence of the progress we have made. We have two hotels, a church - a school – a wharf, small though it be. We have butchers, bakers and stores of all descriptions.”

Remember that little ship docked on April 15th in pouring rain at the beginning of a harsh winter. It docked in a harbour surrounded by what seemed impenetrable bush. By December the first crops would be appearing and some would be ready for use and no doubt the primroses, brought from the glen, and the briar rose would be flowering around the door. What stalwart, hardworking, down to earth folk these early settlers must have been and how courageous, so far from their homeland and their “Ain Folk.” But where to from here?