A Journey to Remember - by Sue Singleton
It is 9.30 in the morning and probably summer when 10-year-old Gwen and her friend Mary catch the Tāneatua Express at Te Puke railway station. The year is around 1928, not long after the excitement and festivities which celebrated the opening of the Tauranga Rail Bridge across the harbour. Such a special event has left the Bay of Plenty people in high spirits.
The enormous black train belches coal smoke and soot as it lumbers into the station. It whistles and hisses as sports fans and trippers, clutching their tickets, board this popular excursion vehicle. A great day Saturday, and so wonderful to be able to reach Tauranga by rail instead of the long and tedious journey by road, either by bus, or by car for the privileged few who own a car.
Little wonder that the two young friends are excited, chatting and laughing as they anticipate their journey. A jovial and animated atmosphere prevails amidst the crowd.
The trip is long and studded with stops. At Pāpāmoa, Kairua, and Te Maunga, passengers flood onto the black snorting monster, keen to take advantage of their amazing new conveyance.
The distinctive series of whistle shrieks announce each arrival and departure and the sound of a magnificent engine gathering speed as it rattles rhythmically across the countryside. Some folk on board carry picnic rugs and lunch. Others are bound, like Gwen and Mary, to visit a relative. Mary's brother lies ill in the Tauranga Hospital and it is almost a foregone conclusion that he will die from tuberculosis. This was to be the first of many train trips and walks to visit Ponty as he lay dying.
They arrive at the busy Strand Station and before long are making their way along The Strand itself, the hub of Tauranga, alive with pedestrians and vehicles. The Strand, where wharf, hotels, people and traffic mingle, the place where water and land meet, swallows the two girls.
The climb up Mc Lean Street finds the girls picking their way through mud and mess from recent construction and soon the long avenue of Cameron Road stretches out before them. It is a very different Cameron Road from the one we know today. The way is dusty, the roadside like a paddock, an uneven surface where wildflowers and weeds flourish. They belong there, like seaweed on a beach. They are part of 1928, Gwen and Mary also, and brother Ponty who is dying from tuberculosis.
At the outset they can see the Wharepai Field they know so well. It is home to many Bay of Plenty Rugby and Cricket families. They pass the Rotunda where the brass band often plays, and the ornate War Memorial Gates of the Tauranga Domain, which are a familiar part of Cameron Road. Their long walk takes them past many tree-lined avenues which adjoin their route until at last in the distance they can discern the cream-coloured walls of the Tauranga Hospital, catching the sun. A lonely spot, it seems, miles from anywhere.
It is easy to find their way in. Behind the closed doors a quiet world reveals funny smells and squeaky floors, people with flowers in hand, visiting loved ones. They ask the uniformed nurse and are shown the way through two wards. Green curtains screen each side, with men on one, women on the other, and out on the verandah to Ponty's bed.
Ponty is hollow-faced, dull-eyed, thin and coughing. He has a mug into which he spits often. Some items from home are delivered, of little interest to the ill man whose life is reduced to the business of breathing and coughing. It is a short visit and a relief for Gwen and Mary to be outside again after the intimidating confines of a hospital ward and so begins the homeward journey.
Once more they trek along Cameron Road, this time a little tired. Other people are heading towards The Strand, streaming onto the station to await the return of the Tāneatua Express. The trip back home is again punctuated with stops as the train gradually empties. Fatigued family groups, drunken men, whining children all wend their way home after their big Saturday excursion.
As the sun sinks two weary girls trudge up Jellicoe Street, towards home. The Tāneatua Express farewells the town with an eerie, shrill shriek. It can be heard across the fields as it gathers speed and echoes in the early evening air. It has been a long day, a day to remember certainly, and one which endures for eighty years, amongst a lifetime of memories.
Remarkably, Gwen and Mary are both here to tell the tale. They do not venture very far these days and Gwen's sight is not the best but as her memory recovers images of those excursions some eighty years ago I am struck by the intensity of her feelings. She recaptures the mood, the stark emotion of those long ago days with her friend.
I find myself imagining the countryside they traversed, open paddocks, dirt tracks they walked, unsealed roads, dust, the smell of the roadside. A long walk for two little girls who must have sat down somewhere to eat their sandwiches and fruit.
But that's not important. It’s about the journey, not the stops or the destination and, like most recollections, it stirs the emotions.
