POSH: a New Zealand novel

By Brian Holloway

This series watches a small, terrified boy escape the ravages of squalid Victorian London. He stows away on a migrant sailing ship heading for the other side of the world. He escapes the predatory advances of a paedophile captain, and is adopted by an on-board family. The first book deals with terrible hardships experienced in the 1800's on these vermin packed ships heading for the colonies.
The books continue with his life in this south pacific nation that is struggling with identity. In the new country he grows to become a scout, a silent killer fighting in the brutal Maori wars. There is murder and lust, passionate love and conflict, yet Matthew forges a strong connection with the native people, and despite the dissention by radicals, and wars created, he matures and grows in a brave new world.
The books are fast moving, historically accurate and a thrilling read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Holloway
• Release date: Sep 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466018327

Brian Holloway

Sailor, bike rider,living in Auckland New Zealand (a 5th generation kiwi)Loves to travel, sings badly, can be good company and will party any timeHistoric novel of a runaway migrant boy in 1839Book should be in print and p- e-pub early October. Book is POSH- a New Zealand novelAlso there are twelve stories, in colour, of the Dragons that live in the garden. Will be produced at same time.This is the Scary Dragon Chronicles- it is fun for young minded people 8- 80years

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POSH – a New Zealand novel

By Brian k Holloway

Copyright 2011 by Brian k Holloway

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Title: Posh - a New Zealand novel

Format: e-book

Publication Date: First edition 4/2011

ISBN: NZ Library ISBN 978-0-473-18701-9

ISBN Bowker USA ISBN 978-1-4660-1832-7

Published by Poshbooks NZ

1 Princes St Northcote Point,

Auckland New Zealand 0627

Ph [phone]

www.Poshbooks.co.nz

Foreword

This thrilling series follows the struggles and hardships of a small boy escaping England, pre 1840, his passage to New Zealand by migrant sailing ship and his early days in this new and turbulent land.

The ship board life opens a whole new world and after the rigours of the voyage he is thrust into the dissention besetting the Maoris and the settlers. There is murder, conflict, love, devastating loss and enlightenment.

The story depicts the reality of life in those harsh times, firstly on the ships and then the hardships faced by the settlers in early New Zealand.

POSH

The favoured side of any ship leaving Europe for the Colonies, in particular Australia and New Zealand, was port (left side) of the vessel, and the starboard (right side) on the return voyage.

PORT OUT and STARBOARD HOME came to be known as POSH. The acronym is still commonly used, and rich people have become known as posh people. On the port side of the boat, which was occupied by the ‘posh’ people, the hull timbers were not so baked by the tropic sun, so their money bought some relief. The intensity of the sun, and the misery it caused, meant even the tar caulking in the decks would often melt and drip on the unlucky passengers in ‘steerage’ another awful discomfort that the posh people, in the cabins above, were able to avoid.

Glossary of nautical terms

Bark or Barque: A sailing ship with three masts, fore, main and mizzenmast (which carries fore and aft sails). There are Upper and Lower Top Gallants on the two main masts, yet even these are under the very top sails, which have great names like Fore and Main Royals, and the very highest, the mighty Skysail.

Bulwarks: The built up part of a hull at deck level, stopping seas from coming on board, and items (like humans) being swept away.

Letting fly: At times in an emergency a rope must be let go, or let fly, to save life, limb or even ship. Normally a sheet (rope that controls a sail) is eased (not let fly) as required.

Pease-pudding: Boiled split pea soup served with scraps of meat.

Port side: On every ship, the left hand side is the port side. The night light is red.

Starboard side: On every ship, the starboard is the right side. The night light is green.

Ratlines: Permanent rope ladders used by sailors to go aloft, formed by lashing horizontally between the shrouds.

Sail trimming: Sails are set at their optimum to catch the wind and project a boat at its greatest speed. The old ships were easily pushed, hence the square yards, or pushing sails. They were very inefficient in trying to get close to the wind; they could barely even sail across the face of the wind. It was not till the Bermudian rig (fore and aft sails) came into being that vessels began to improve in this area. Incidentally, a fore and aft rig is, in principle, the same as an aircraft wing.

Scuppers: Holes in the bulwarks to allow the water to easily drain away off the deck.

Sheets: Ropes that control the trim of sails. For example, a Foremast-Port-Upper-Top Gallant-Sheet is a specific rope doing a specific job, i.e. on the port side of the ship controlling the Fore Top Gallant sail.

Shrouds: The wires holding the masts upright, another term still used on yachts today.

Square sails: Hung off timber beams, called yards or yardarms. Used for downwind sailing, where wind pushes from behind, or nearly so.

Steerage: The poor people who paid the cheaper fares to escape the old country and hopefully find a better life. The months spent on board could be living hell.

Glossary of Maori terms

Ai (ae): yes

Haere mai: welcome

Haere ra: farewell

Haere ki te kai: come and eat!

Hangi: food steamed in the ground

Hapu: tribe

Hongi: to respectfully greet by touching noses together

Ka pai: good

Kia kaha: go well, be strong

Kia ora: greeting

Kuia: mature woman

Kumara: sweet potato

Maori: indigenious New Zealanders

Mere (Patu): deadly close fighting weapon

Moana: seafood

Moko: tattoo worn on chin and lips of Maori women

Muru: confiscation of goods after an insult

Pakeha: white New Zealanders

Powhiri: traditional greeting ritual

Raupo: bullrushes

Taiaha: fighting stick

Tapu: sacred

Tena kotou: greeting to three or more persons.

Tena koura: greeting to two persons

Tena kuia: greeting to one person

Tohunga: priest, spiritual leader,

Utu: revenge

Wahine: women

Whanau: family

Whare: house

Whare-wanaga: school of higher learning

Whare-mata: school for lower class technical school

Prologue

The old feral pig lifted his snout to the pre-dawn sky. His bones poked at a scrawny hide that crudely struggled to contain the lice and flea-bitten frame. He lived on rats and birds, fruit and vegetables, devouring anything that he could digest. Dead meat, animal or human, was a treat, but this night had been a long, futile search, rooting unsuccessfully in the under growth for any stray kiwis, or carrion.

But now he recognised the scent of Maori potatoes and his old mouth salivated. If the potatoes were in raised store-houses he would stay hungry, but often they were in cool pits in the ground. He could smell the earthy, half rotten tang. Hunger drove him forward. He was lean and mean, could move very fast, and kill with his sharp tusks, so he feared little and these humans respected him.

The food now was very close indeed and though he could not sight it in the dark, the wafting aroma was exquisite and pulled him relentlessly forward. He could now see the pit was away from the reed houses with only an old humpy nearby.

This hovel was little more than a broken down wreck and the putrid smells from it spoke not of man but of an animal’s stall. He trotted forward. Soon the daylight would come; the humans would be out in force.

He was at the edge of the pit now, the scent was strong and drawing him in. Branches and soil protected the treasure from the weather but little else, certainly nothing that would deter a determined tusker pig. He pawed at the first branch and easily pulled it aside. Laying there was a large pile of potatoes, with sprouts already showing for spring planting. His head bent and he greedily chomped on the closest one.

Unseen, a figure rose like a ghost from the hovel and stood silently watching. Perhaps it was not even human, its form was both loathsome and hideous and scantily clothed in stinking rags. It had lain for a full week barely moving, except to occasionally excrete. This tohunga was so old there was little indication of its sex, though it was female and they were the strongest magicians of all.

Disgusting as the tohunga - priest was, she knew great witchcraft and her magic could change children to frogs, sink canoes and bring untold misery and death to anyone that crossed her path. Now from her mouth, with its broken teeth and raw gums, came a primeval sound, barely a cry, and more a guttural croak, full of anger.

The tohunga pointed her long bony and evil finger. Anyone watching might have hoped the tusker would immediately turn to roasted pork, but the pig did an extraordinary thing. It squealed in fright and reared up on its hind legs, as if struck by lightning. It snorted out a bellow and then instead of running away, suddenly charged straight at the human form.

The tohunga took a body blow that drove her backwards, crashing into the reed whare and collapsing the roof to the ground. A terrible melee followed with grunts, croaks and wild thrashings and a long single high-pitched scream - before the pig dashed squealing out the entrance and made its escape.

By now the village was wide awake and the first arrivals saw a scene of carnage, with the absolute demolition of the tohunga’s whare, the half opened pit, and hoarse moans from inside the wreckage.

The priest lay prostrate on the earth. There was a slash across her chest, where a flabby remnant of a breast hung for all to see. She was covered in fresh blood, though apart from the one slash did not appear to be seriously hurt. A small cut on her forehead was bleeding profusely over her face, which made her countenance more awful than ever and the people shrank away as she sat up.

My bones. My bones, she demanded angrily.

One brave warrior looked into the shattered remnants of the abode and saw a flax bag on the ground. There was little else in there anyway, for the tohunga lived and slept between ancient flax mats on the hard earth and scorned all normal comforts. The warrior fearfully pulled out the bag and gingerly passed it over.

I have been waiting for pig. We must see what gods say, we must see, cackled the old crone.

She passed her hand over the ground in front of her, then opened the bag and tipped out all the contents. There were many small bones, the shrunken eyeball of an albatross, the placenta of a baby and other ornaments. She studied them with intense concentration.

So silent was she that the fascinated watchers began to feel as if they were being drawn into her space. As her head went lower, so they all craned forward, despite themselves. As they gazed in rapt awe, steam appeared to begin to rise from the earth and shortly a small thick white cloud hung over the ornaments. The silent crowd stood rock still, frozen, with bated breath. Even the elders very rarely ever saw this much magic. As they watched entranced, the eyeball of the albatross suddenly rolled away, to the northern cliff face.

Enough, enough, be gone all of you, the crone screamed.

As if waking from a dream, the people tumbled backwards, falling over each other in their haste.

Tomorrow at sundown, as she scooped up her ornaments and without another word climbed back into what was left of her whare.

The villagers trooped back to the Pa, to begin their chores, but all day the excited talk was of the strange event. By evening, every villager from the big Pa and other villages nearby were crammed into the square.

A fire was lit, when suddenly, without a word, the old crone was there in front of them. No one saw her entrance and chatter and laughter instantly died away, as if cut with a knife. Without preamble she began to incant to the assembled throng.

The pig, the blood, the eye, the white cloud are all signs. There be very bad times coming. Bad ship from the Pakeha will come, pointing to the north, and spitting on the dry earth.

It rolled in the dust and all those close shrank away from it.

The white man will make blood to be spilt, and the waters will run red with blood.

With that she threw powder into the embers of the fire. There was a blinding flash and when the smoke cleared the tohunga had gone. Great was the magic of the feared tohunga and loud was the babble of talk, but gradually the hubbub of excitement died down as the crowd began to disperse. Yet the elders of the Ngati-Hei tribe continued to sit around the cooling ashes, deep in meditative thought, for they were mindful of her powers and paid heed of the old woman’s words.

In the months that followed, they built stronger palisades and a number of secret escape routes from the main Pa. Water was stored in gourds and a full array of fighting weapons, spears, meres and taiahas were kept at the ready. Guards were continually posted on the cliff top.

Over the years they had been subject to many raids from the dreaded Ngapuhi from up north, with their terrifying huge war canoes, or wakas, but they had always been able to protect themselves. There were other small skirmishes from other local tribes, but Ngati-Hei were a strong tribe of peaceful people, and liked to negotiate whenever possible.

After all, they lived in a beautiful place, where the weather was kind and fish abounded in the sea. Fresh water was plentiful and good to drink and there was enough flat land for all to plant.

But nothing happened as she predicted and the young people even openly began to scorn her. Yet the dreaded prophecy had indeed already begun. It had surfaced in Australia, a far-away place undreamt of by the villagers. A ship named ‘Venus’ sailed into the east coast of Australia with supplies of grain, flour and salt pork, the stores intended for the new settlements.

The Captain went ashore to deliver some government dispatches and was appalled on returning, to see the ship was already underway. Five loyal members of his crew had been set adrift in a boat and told him that convicts had taken over the ship.

The ‘Venus’ made for the Bay of Islands in New Zealand, but faster ships carried the news of the piracy to the authorities at Kororareka. When the ‘Venus’ sailed into the port, though half of the crew were captured, the ship made its escape.

A mulatto seaman, Joseph Redmonds, was in command. A pitiless sadistic man, he was reported as ‘having a corpulent belly, being