John(1a) Grant

John(1a) Grant, fourth son of Charles and Janet Grant married Elizabeth Meikle. They had nine children: John(2a), Janet, William, Charles, Elizabeth, David, Robert Meikle and Mary Osbourne.

I REMEMBER.

The Story of John and Elizabeth Grant of Waitepeka

by their son David.

“We're not going,” said Elizabeth. “Not going?" “No. we're not going. Janet and I are going to stay here in Scotland.”

“But you must come,” said Father, "we can't go to New Zealand and leave you here."

“Yes you can, we are going to stay here."

And so the battle raged. The teenagers of the mid-nineteenth century were just as difficult as those of the twentieth.

Next day Robert Meikle went into the city. As he walked along the street he pondered. He lived at Uphall, a suburb of Edinburgh. He worked in a slate quarry, but the dust was affecting his lungs, and other work he must have. Elizabeth, the rebel, had been only six when her mother died giving birth to the little Elsie who survived for only a few months. Elizabeth had seldom gone to school and had practically run wild. Recently she had been working for the minister's wife and seemed happy enough there. But this land he was reading about, this Otago, surely it offered bright opportunities for a man with a growing family. Arrived at his destination he looked at the posters advertising Otago. Should he or should he not? The cold wind blowing up the street brought on a fit of coughing so he hurried inside the office. He must get away from these bitter winds and that slate quarry. “Did you get the tickets Father?”

When Robert arrived home, Elizabeth was waiting for him at the gate. “Yes.' "For Janet and me too?” “Yes.' “Then we're all going to Otago?” “Yes. We're sailing in the Storm Cloud."

With a gasp of relief Elizabeth dashed inside to tell the others — and especially Janet — that all were going to Otago to live.

The 'Storm Cloud' arrived in Otago in 1861. The captain was a man who always crowded on the canyas to make good time on the run. Many of the passengers prophesied that the boat would one day turn turtle. Whether their predictions were true is not known, but after the next voyage the ‘Storm Cloud' was never heard of again.

1861 was surely the best year of all to arrive in Otago. Gold had just been discovered and the excitement throughout the colony was intense.

Robert bought horses and drays with which he started up a carrying business round Dunedin while Elizabeth went to 'Gowrie', about twelve miles away, to work. There she met the brother of the owner, John Grant.

John had been a ploughman in Scotland at Blairgowrie. He worked a pair of horses in a swing plough for which he received £26 per annum, plus an allowance of oatmeal. The hours were 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. When it was too dark to plough he had to spend the time working a horse-powered threshing mill.

No doubt letters which Peter wrote encouraged John to take the plunge and come to the new land too.

By this time the Scottish Presbyterians had established the settlement of Otago on the Wakefield plan, the essence of which was that land must be sold at a “sufficient” price. The money so obtained was to be used to assist emigrants who were willing to be labourers in the colony. John took advantage of this opportunity, and in 1856 he arrived with William in Dunedin on the "Strathmore”. No doubt he went at once to his brother at Gowrie. Certain it is that he was there in 1861 when Elizabeth arrived, or this story would never have been written. The dark eyes of the gay Elizabeth flashed brightly and won the heart of quiet John.

When John and Elizabeth were first married they lived at Grants Braes in Dunedin (called after Burn's place of the same name in Scotland). John was 29 and Elizabeth 19. John still worked at Gowrie and came home only for week-ends. He was keen to set up a carrying business, like his father-inlaw, but Elizabeth dissuaded him. She said there were too many waits between jobs, and the horses had to be fed all the time. So John went to the gold rush, but did not stay long. Later he was working on the road in the Taieri when he found some gold hidden in the flax he was burning. One can imagine with what excitement he went home that night.

“Eliza, Eliza, see what I have found.”

With great excitement they pored over the little hoard. Long discussions followed as to what they would do with it. As no claimant appeared for the money they decided to buy land. So John went to the Land Office, looked at the maps shown to him and finally bought 90 acres at Waitapeka for 10/- an acre without having seen it – a customary practice in those days of difficult transport.

John next bought bullocks and a sledge, and loading the latter with supplies set off for Waitapeka, leaving Elizabeth and John Junior to follow later.

On arrival at Waitapeka, John's first job was to locate the pegs marking the land. Was he disappointed when he saw the tussocky ridges of his purchase — such a change from the fertile Taieri plain? He looked carefully over the land and then chose a site for the house. Wisely he picked on a level piece of ground near the clear stream that flowed through his property.

The next evening he was standing considering the site when he saw a tall figure come striding down the ridge. The figure approached with outstretched hand.

“You'll be John Grant." "Aye.” "Welcome to Waitapeka.”

"I'm Robert Sutherland. My brother William adjoins on the west and I am on the south of him.”

“Then we're neighbours?' said John eagerly. He liked the look of this lean Scotsman.

"Aye. If you build your house here, my brother will be your nearest neighbour. I've just been putting in my oats," continued Robert, "and there is a strip at the end with nothing in it. If you would care to, you could plant potatoes there."

John gratefully accepted the offer and so began a friendship that lasted until Robert was carried to the churchyard thirty years later.

With light heart John began the next day to build the whare of sod, with a thatched roof and a clay chimney. How anxiously he would light the first fire to see if the chimney would “draw” properly, or stand quietly during the first heavy fall of rain to listen for any drips that might question his skill as a thatcher.

When the little home was ready, John's brother William brought Elizabeth and John Junior as far as Moneymore, where she stayed at Robinson's until John came for them and they completed the rest of the fifty-eight miles together.

With what pride John showed Elizabeth the land that was their own, and the tiny house that he had built with his own hands. How did this gay girl of twenty feel when she stood, a little babe in her arms, her quiet stalwart husband by her side and looked at these lonely hills for the first time? Was it for this she had left Edinburgh? As she glanced at the sleeping babe her pride rose. All this was theirs. Together they would work and make a bright future for their child. Scotland's harsh winters and dire poverty had been left behind. There were no enemies and no wild animals to fear in this kindly land.

But one enemy lurked in the deep green gullies. Within three weeks one of the bullocks for which John had paid £85 had died of the dreaded tutu poisoning. So fences must be erected. Getting supplies was difficult and the first lot of wire which John ordered was not suitable – too thick, difficult to handle and very brittle.

Later John discussed this problem with Robert Sutherland. “I see you've fenced in that bit of flat?”

“Aye, but the fencing wire was not right. It didn't go far either, it was too thick.”

"Why not try a sod dyke?” said Robert. "Then you don't need wire." John looked doubtful. “Come, I'll show you.” Robert and John each took a spade and went out behind the whare.

“I'll start here,” said Robert, "cut the sods square, and place them like this. I'll dig a ditch here. You make yours parallel and about three feet away.” Carefully they squared the sods and piled them up. It was slow work and tiring, but soon a recognisable fence appeared.

“Will this stand the rain?” asked the careful John.

"It will last a lifetime," answered Robert, "unless an enraged bull rubs his horns on it.” And last a lifetime it did, in spite of the depredations of the busy rabbits in later years.

Elizabeth meanwhile had made friends with another neighbour, Mrs. Gilfillan, who proved a truly trusty friend. Eight times Mrs. Gilfillan packed her bag and came across to Elizabeth in her time of need. For Elizabeth in the manner of the true pioneer became the mother of a large family of five sons and four daughters.

Footnote: It is interesting to note that the love of nursing continues in the Gilfillan descendants. Two of Mrs. Gilfillan's great-grand-daughters run the Elizabeth George Maternity Home in Invercargill today.

Isolated the life may have been, but there was one great asset — they were near a doctor. Dr. Manning, who had been surgeon on the “John Wickliffe”, made his home in a beautiful setting on the edge of the bush, about a mile and a half away. A kindly man, with ruddy cheeks and long curls, he brought his haughty alcoholic wife to this quiet retreat to live. They built a lovely rambling L-shaped house, covered with climbing roses. Dr. Manning had a wide practice and was often out late at night — sometimes all night. Always his wife put a light in the window to guide him home.

After her husband's death in 1884, Mrs. Manning lived alone in the house for years but each evening she put the welcoming beacon in the window. When she grew old and feeble the kindly Robert Sutherland climbed his hill each night to see if this lamp had been lit. She went out nowhere, except once in a long time to Somervilles. In her early days she had been a keen rider and she still kept her ageing horses. They wandered the roads, and frequently broke down neighbours' gates but she refused to have them either shut up or destroyed, until one was found shot by a mysterious hand.

One day Elizabeth saw her making her painful way home from Somervilles. “Come in Mrs. Manning and have a cup of tea." The old lady came in thankfully, had the proffered tea and a rest. "I'll yoke up the dray and drive you home," offered the kindly John. Mrs. Manning rose to her full height, “No, thank-you, I can walk,” she said proudly and set off the long two miles at her slow pace.

On Saturdays the Grant children went up to Mannings with the mail.

“What's wrong David,” said the old doctor, "you don't look well.”

“My head is sore,” said David. “I often have a headache.” The doctor disappeared inside then came back with a small bottle and a packet of powder in his hand.

“Take these, laddie,” he said, "you must get rid of these headaches or you'll have them all your life.”

An important centre in the life of the district was the settlement of the Somervilles. John and Elizabeth arrived at "Hillside”, as they called their property, only a few years after Somervilles opened for business in 1863. They had a store, a threshing mill, and a water-driven flour and oatmeal mill. The Grants made all purchases at Somervilles, who also gave employment at various seasons, thus enabling John to earn money without which the family could not have carried on.

"This house is getting too small,” said Elizabeth one evening. “It's time we had a new one."

“I've been thinking about that,” said John in his quiet way. “What do you want?

“It must be a wooden house," said Elizabeth who longed to keep up with her neighbours. “Couldn't we have a new wooden house — better than adding on to this one?”

"Maybe," said the cautious John, “we'll see.” Some days later John paid a visit to the sawmill in the Government bush. The price must have been right, for in 1873 the wooden house was erected. It had two rooms downstairs and one large room upstairs, which was later divided into two. It was lined with clay and had a shingle roof. Later scrim and paper covered the clay, and iron covered the roof. As the family increased, three rooms were added at the back and a verandah built across the front. It was not painted until the time of Maggie's wedding in 1900. The wood, however, was too cracked and weathered by this time and it did not take the paint well. When the new house was completed, a garden was laid out in front of it, enclosing about a quarter of an acre surrounded by a picket fence. Nearest the house were flower beds, at the rear the vegetable garden and orchard were planted. Trees for the orchard were bought from an itinerant vendor — apples, pears and plums. One apple tree the vendor especially praised - the Northern Spy – so a Northern Spy was bought. Years later a nurseryman told John that Northern Spy took fourteen years to bear.

Small fruit, gooseberries and currants and raspberries, were also planted. In that virgin soil most plants flourished. The small birds were not the nuisance that they later became and the country was free from blights and pests. Each year Robert Sutherland came and pruned the trees.

January 20th, 1875, was a warm summer day. John had been working at Somervilles all day. The sun was setting in clouds of glory when he returned home. He glanced at the stable and byre. The cows had been milked and the horses fed. He went in quietly taking little notice of the children playing on the grass. Elizabeth glanced at him curiously.

"It's been a hot day, John,” she said.

“Aye,” he answered, mopping his brow. But Elizabeth was used to this quiet husband of hers. She bided her time. Presently it came out. “I've bought a Bamlett back delivery machine," said John. “Thirty-seven pounds."

Elizabeth gasped, "A reaping machine for thirty-seven pounds. We don't need one for our crops. Oh John, how can we pay for it?"

“I could hire it out to the neighbours," answered John. “Machinery is the coming thing.” But Elizabeth was worried.

A few days later. Lamond, a neighbour, came in. “I hear you've bought a Bamlett, John. How about trying it on my pasture. We have been trying to cut it all afternoon with Robinson's machine but it won't work.” So next day John took the Bamlett up to the pasture where it made a beautiful job. It proved an excellent investment and with it John earned many a much needed penny.

The family of five boys and four girls was brought up in the strict Scottish tradition. Father rose first each morning, stirred up the fire which had been banked, and hung up the large iron pot for the porridge. Then he called the boys, and he and two of the older children went out and the six cows. The pails of milk were carried into the cool dairy, strained into the gleaming pans and left to set.

Then followed breakfast. Good Scotch porridge (without sugar), a slice of fried bacon with eggs in the summer-time and home-made bread. Then the children set off for the two-mile walk to school. One mile went through a grass paddock where there were rushes.

"You young ones had better watch out going through those rushes. We saw some Russians there last night.”

This was during the scare of the Eighties. Russians! The young hearts stood still.

David and his friend Charlie were in the primers, so were released an hour before the others. They went unwillingly along the road until they came to the paddock with rushes. “D-do ye see anything?" asked David.

“N-no. I don't think so," said Charlie. “Wh-what's that?" asked David as a bush moved slightly. “N-nothing," answered Charlie as a sheep moved quietly round. “L-let's wait for the others,” said David.

“What are you two youngsters playing here for?” asked Lizzie with an air of authority as she came along an hour later.

“Just playing," answered the young ones, with all the deceit of the small boy.

“Come on then,” she said taking a grubby little paw in each kindly hand. “See if you can run."

The school was a one-roomed wooden building where the “Dominie" a man by the name of Porteous, endeavoured to teach fifty pupils of all grades. School began at 9.30 with a thirty-minute Bible lesson. Eight lines of a psalm or paraphrase were sung. One morning one of the older lads was 

the verse for the day: “Few are thy days and full of woe O man of woman born.” At this point there was a knock at the door, and the Dominie went out to talk to the caller. So the lad improvised: “I canna say no more the day I'll say the rest the morn” and sat down to the subdued tittering of the whole school. During the Bible lesson each child who was able read a verse, and the Dominie explained. One year they began with “Genesis,” the following with “Matthew” and read a portion each day. Then followed Arithmetic from books, reading from the Royal Readers, History and Geography from books. All the books belonged to the children. As they read from the Geography books the class stood in front of the map and the places mentioned were pointed out to them. “Show me Marseilles, David," said the Dominie seeing that the lad's attention had wandered. David glanced at the map hopelessly, then his eye caught the name. “There sir," he answered brightly and so averted disaster.

For lunch the children had sandwiches of bread with honey, jam or egg filling.

When the school closed at 3.30, four lines from the 23rd psalm were sung.

“Goodness and mercy all my life Shall surely follow me, And in God's house forever more

My dwelling place shall be.” Then the Lord's prayer was recited and the children dismissed.

After the two-mile walk home there was more work to be done by the older children. Cows to be milked again and, in winter, the byre to be cleaned out and the cows fed on turnips and straw, as the animals were housed inside.

Then came tea, and hearty were the appetites. Potatoes, meat, vegetables, all home grown, with a pudding to follow.

After tea came lessons. John, with his Scottish reverence for learning, heard the children their lessons each night, until they reached a point beyond which he could not help them. Then he encouraged them to carry on on their own.

Evenings were a delightful time for the whole family. The work of the day was over. John built up a huge fire — for wood was to be had from the nearby Government bush for the taking. First an armful of wood about two feet long, then a stack of Benhar coal – a brown lignite — piled carefully on its edge, lastly a shovel of dross at the back. All sat round and enjoyed the warmth. Even when the children went to bed the floor of the room above was warm from the heat generated below, and the clay-lined house was free from draughts.

At eight o'clock, out went the boys again with John to feed the horses and bed down both horses and cows with straw. At a quarter to nine, down came the "books", a Bible for each of the older children, and a chapter was read aloud. John then led in prayer and the family went off to bed,

The cooking facilities in the new house were considered most up-to-date, for Elizabeth was the proud possessor of a colonial oven. This square oven was made of iron, and set in the bottom of the fireplace between the hobs.

Above it was a gap of a few inches, and then came the grate of the ordinary fire. When baking, a fire was lit below the oven as well as on the top.. For this fire John always cut the twigs of black pine, as that was the best wood obtainable for baking.

Across the chimney hung a rod and the pots were suspended from this, or stewpans were set on the glowing embers.

A large four-gallon urn hung above the fire for hot water. At the bottom was a long pipe with a brass tap at the end. The lid was of cast iron and bevelled. If it boiled it made a tremendous clatter.

Water came from a tank — rain-water, so delightfully soft. Baths, however, as such were non-existent — except for an occasional plunge in the creek in summer time.

“Wake up boys,” shouted John up the stairs one morning, "We're washing blankets today.”

The boys bounded up with delight. Blanket washing they adored. Soon they were out in the chill light of dawn cutting a huge pile of wood. This they carried across the dewy grass to a fireplace beside the creek. John laid the fire while the boys carried buckets of water from the creek and poured it into the huge drum. “Off for breakfast now, boys, and I'll watch the fire,” said John. In a short time the boys were back. "Go to the stable and bring me a couple of ploughlines,” said John. Off raced the boys and while John went for breakfast they climbed the bluegums and made the line fast in its branches.

“Now, the tub, lads." Back to the house went the lads and returned with the large wooden tub used for washing. Then Elizabeth and the girls appeared, their arms full of blankets. Soft soap and water were put in the tub then, “Come on boys, it's your job now."

"Into the creek first,” said Elizabeth with one glance at their feet. Cheerfully the boys paddled in the stream until their feet were judged clean enough, then into the tub they went, tramping joyfully on the blankets — little human washing machines splashing with delight. All the happy morning they worked while their elders wrung and rinsed and hung out in the sunny air. The gentle breezes soon dried and fluffed up the blankets and at night the tired workers slept blissfully under the fresh coverings smelling faintly of eucalyptus.

Another exciting day came in late Autumn when the pigs were killed. Once again the lads laboured valiantly cutting wood and carrying water for the outdoor fire, as a pig must be scalded to remove the bristles. Two pigs were killed at a time, and as they were a year old and weighed about two hundred and thirty pounds the job was a big one. Little eyes bulged out of heads as quietus was given to the squealing victims. Then the men rushed to lift off the water and plunge the carcass in. Then all hands settled down to the scraping. At last the pig was cleaned and hung up. More wood and water were put on the fire and the process was repeated.

Next day was spent cutting up the carcasses, salting and putting in a barrel. Every second day for a fortnight the hams were salted and turned. The end result was the large slices of juicy bacon that appeared on the breakfast table.

Meanwhile the ribs were removed and roasted. This made a delicious meal. The intestines were cleaned and Elizabeth showed her skill at making white puddings with oatmeal, lard and onions. These were boiled and could be kept for several weeks. Cheese-making was another of Elizabeth's skills but this was a summer time task. At the end of the garden was a post four feet high. One side had a small platform on which sat a wooden keg with holes in the side. The curd was placed in this, the lid put on, with slabs of wood on top. Resting on these was a six-foot rail with one end in a hole in the post. On the other end hung huge stones to press the cheese. Every day the cheese was turned. As the lid did not exactly fit, there was a little rim round the edge that had to be cut off. When the children saw Elizabeth going down to the “Cheddar” as the cheese-maker was called, they scampered after her to eat this rim of cheese.

All the long sunny days the bees hummed in the orchard. When Autumn came, the bees were smoked and the hives robbed. The lads kept well away when this operation was in progress, as there were too many angry bees about. Once the comb had been broken up and left in a bag to drain, however, little fingers came close to sample the sweetness. The honey was stored in crocks and lasted the year round.

Elizabeth was busy in the dairy too. After each milking the milk was put into large pans and left for at least twenty-four hours. The cream was then skimmed off and the remaining milk given to the pigs. One smaller pan was kept for the household use. This was skimmed twice daily. Elizabeth and John had cream for their porridge and tea and the children, like the pigs, had the skim milk.

Once a week was churning day. The butter, except what was kept for the household, was salted and stored in large crocks that held about a hundredweight. Every year about ten of these were filled in the summer. In winter they were sent to Nimmo and Blair in Dunedin. The casks cost 4/6 each and for the butter Elizabeth received fourpence a pound.

“Wake up David, wake up Robert. It's four o'clock.” The boys turned over sleepily then remembering what day it was, they quickly woke up and jumped out of bed. For it was New Year's Day, the best day of all the year. The six cows were milked, the two horses harnessed into the dray, breakfast eaten by everybody and by six o'clock they were on the road. Four hours it took to travel the sixteen miles to Kaka Point. The time flew by. If small legs got cramped with sitting they jumped out and walked alongside for a while. At all the houses they passed they waved to the people. Some were yoking up, some just milking the cows, but all were going to “the Port” for the day.

Arriving at the beach the young ones scampered up and down to let off their energy. John proceeded to cut sticks and boil the billy. Elizabeth watched for the Downies to come, for the two families always ate together.

The days preceding had been feverish ones for Elizabeth and the older girls. Half a ham was boiled, a couple of chickens were killed and roasted. There were bread and cakes to be baked, butter to be churned. All had to be packed into the tea-chests ready for the journey.

Then the clothes. All the family had to be turned out in their best clothes. The machine whirred late many nights, for Elizabeth made clothes for all the family.

At the beach the main entertainment was the sports. Races for all, tossing the sheaf, tossing the caber, tug-of-war. There were walks along the beach, walks in the bush, shells to gather and waves to paddle in. No-one went bathing in those days however. It was just “not done”.

John Geggie was a man who twice running won a saddle in the riding competition. On the way home John and Elizabeth were discussing his prowess. As they neared the Geggie place John said “Look that must be where Geggie trains his horses. See the track cut through the flaxes. The horse is used to the rustle of the tall flax and so is not frightened of the people as most of the other horses are."

About three o'clock in the afternoon John boiled the billy again and the family had another meal. Shortly afterwards they left for home where they arrived about four hours later. Only once did rain mar the event. The family had set off as usual, but were only at Downies a couple of miles down the road when rain began to fall. “Come in here John”, said the hospitable Downies. “You can just spend the day with us," and so they did.

Another day of adventure was the Balclutha Show. On this day they left at 8 o'clock for the two-hour drive. John wished to be in Balclutha before there were too many buggies on the road.

Each year the family went to Miss Sutherland's. Here John unyoked and tied his horses. Elizabeth took two roosters and half a ham, while Miss Sutherland provided a roast of lamb, bread, stewed rhubarb and very stiff maizena. Watching the traffic and a walk round the shops were the excitements of the morning.

“Come along David. We must get you a new suit,” said Elizabeth one Show day. So off down the street they went and into McKenzies. A bought suit was a novelty in David's life. One was soon chosen and seemed to be the right size. “I want you to wear it,” said Elizabeth. “Go behind those barrels and put it on.” So David in the privacy of the barrels changed into the full glory of his new clothes.

After dinner the family all went to the Show. Intense was the excitement of seeing the crowds, meeting friends and watching the ring. Here the horses took pride of place. They pranced along with their manes and tails tied up with ribbons.

“Come on, Davey, look at these men,” said Bob. Together the two boys watched. Two men were driving an express round the ground. One held up a sheet with prize-winning numbers on it, the other was selling envelopes for 1/- each. Each buyer quickly tore off the corner of the envelope to see if a lucky number was inside.

“What are the men looking round for all the time?” asked Bob. As the boys watched, two policemen came along. As soon as the men spied them they moved on, but the ground was white with the envelopes that had been sold.

As the afternoon waned the family came back to Sutherland's again for another meal. Then they set off for home once more.

John took his share in the work of the community. At the first householders' meeting he was elected to the school committee. Afterwards he was re-elected twenty-six times. He was offered, but was too shy to accept, the chairmanship.

He served, too, as a deacon of the church. He was offered an eldership, but once again he did not accept. He felt that an elder was a man who should be able to stand up and express his views. That was too much for quiet John.

For newspapers there was the “Otago Witness” a weekly paper was shared with Robert Sutherland for 40 years. Charlie Lamond subscribed to the “Clutha Leader” which was also issued once a week. Someone went to the store on Friday, picked up the “Leader” and took it home to read over the week-end then took it in to Charlie on Mondays.

There was one exciting day that concerned David alone. In 1890. Mr. Porteous, the “Dominie", arranged to take forty-four of the older children to the Exhibition in Dunedin. He paid for the fares, for dinner and tea at the Leviathan Hotel, and for the admission to the Exhibition of the whole forty-four children.Each year the family went to Miss Sutherland's. Here John unyoked and tied his horses. Elizabeth took two roosters and half a ham, while Miss Sutherland provided a roast of lamb, bread, stewed rhubarb and very stiff maizena. Watching the traffic and a walk round the shops were the excitements of the morning.

“Come along David. We must get you a new suit,” said Elizabeth one Show day. So off down the street they went and into McKenzies. A bought suit was a novelty in David's life. One was soon chosen and seemed to be the right size. “I want you to wear it,” said Elizabeth. “Go behind those barrels and put it on.” So David in the privacy of the barrels changed into the full glory of his new clothes.

After dinner the family all went to the Show. Intense was the excitement of seeing the crowds, meeting friends and watching the ring. Here the horses took pride of place. They pranced along with their manes and tails tied up with ribbons.

“Come on, Davey, look at these men,” said Bob. Together the two boys watched. Two men were driving an express round the ground. One held up a sheet with prize-winning numbers on it, the other was selling envelopes for 1/- each. Each buyer quickly tore off the corner of the envelope to see if a lucky number was inside.

“What are the men looking round for all the time?” asked Bob. As the boys watched, two policemen came along. As soon as the men spied them they moved on, but the ground was white with the envelopes that had been sold.

As the afternoon waned the family came back to Sutherland's again for another meal. Then they set off for home once more.

John took his share in the work of the community. At the first householders' meeting he was elected to the school committee. Afterwards he was re-elected twenty-six times. He was offered, but was too shy to accept, the chairmanship.

He served, too, as a deacon of the church. He was offered an eldership, but once again he did not accept. He felt that an elder was a man who should be able to stand up and express his views. That was too much for quiet John.

For newspapers there was the “Otago Witness” a weekly paper was shared with Robert Sutherland for 40 years. Charlie Lamond subscribed to the “Clutha Leader” which was also issued once a week. Someone went to the store on Friday, picked up the “Leader” and took it home to read over the week-end then took it in to Charlie on Mondays.

There was one exciting day that concerned David alone. In 1890. Mr. Porteous, the “Dominie", arranged to take forty-four of the older children to the Exhibition in Dunedin. He paid for the fares, for dinner and tea at the Leviathan Hotel, and for the admission to the Exhibition of the whole forty-four children. David that day rose at 5 a.m. After breakfast, he walked a mile to the road junction where he was picked up by a neighbour, Mr. Smith, and driven with the Smith family in the spring dray seven miles to the railway station. It was David's first ride in the train, as it must have been for most of the pupils. The train was a long one with three engines. At Mosgiel it divided. The front of the train, in which were the Waitepeka children, proceeded with two engines, while the rear followed later with the remaining engine.

On arrival in Dunedin, they had dinner at the Leviathan Hotel, then set off for the Exhibition. The main building of this exhibition is now the administration block of the Public Hospital, and was built by Robert Meikle.

The older children were each given three or four of the smaller ones to look after. “Each group hold hands and keep together," said the Dominie. They started round the Exhibition, and became enthralled with all the displays. Suddenly David looked, only three instead of four little boys were holding his hands. The word was passed round, that one little boy was missing. A hurried search began, and the child was found before he realised he was lost.

The exhibit that David remembered most was a huge block of Kaitangata coal. Kneeling in front was a life-sized figure of a miner with his pick embedded in the coal. One came upon him suddenly on turning a corner. Some of the children were frightened, thinking that he was real.

There was an amusement park, but as none of the children had money to spend, no one went there.

Later in the afternoon, the school went down to the wharves to see the ships, then back to the Leviathan for tea. Before they left, Mrs. Silk, the proprietress, gave the Dominie a cake for the children to eat in the train

“They are the best behaved party of children I have ever had in here,” she remarked. Little did she realise that they were too shy to be anything but good. Then the long return ride in the train, then seven miles in the spring dray, and finally, for David, the last long mile home where he arrived about 10pm.

As the children grew older, the social life of the district became of importance.

One winter sixpenny readings were held and a concert was given to raise funds for kerosene lamps for the school.

During the summer months the Band of Hope held fortnightly meetings. Its aim was to teach the children the dangers of alcohol. The children walked back to school. Rev. Dalrymple was at the head, and George Somerville trained the children for a concert. On the night of the concert (admission 6d) the hall was full. The Grants were represented by David who recited Burn's “Address to a Mouse” and Robert who recited “Scots Wha Hae” (encored).

To accommodate all the performers, George Somerville had made a false platform for the stage. On the night of the performance, Rev. Dalrymple edged back his chair to give the children more room. He went too far, and fell off the stage. Only his feet were left sticking up.

The next year another concert, equally successful, was held. The children and young people all signed the pledge to abstain from drinking all alcoholic liquors and wore blue ribbons. It was soon noticed that there appeared in the district an opposing faction that sported red ribbons, but no comment was made.

At the Waitapeka school was a good library for adults and children. Money had been raised and sets of leather-bound classics were bought. Many of them, alas, were never opened. Later books included cloth bound, and less expensive ones which catered more to the taste of the reading public.

A highly ambitious venture was the Mutual Improvement Society of which Miss Annie Porteous was secretary. They held debates and members wrote letters to the secretary which she read at the next meeting. They raised money for a Harmonium for use by the Band of Hope.

Miss Geggie played this harmonium for the children. One evening one of the dear little “Hopes” threw a cracker at the organist and nearly frightened her out of her wits.

On Sunday evenings the Baptists held a service in the school. The preaching was of the evangelical style and the hymns of the hearty Sankey variety. The school, which seated sixty was often full, and many were changed to a better way of life.

After a time, however, the movement fell through, owing to lack of leadership. The rowdy element took control of the meetings and the School Committee closed the school to them.

There were dances and balls in the district, but the young Grants did not attend these, John and Elizabeth held strict Calvinistic views about the evils of dancing.

And so the children grew up. John, William, Janet, Charles, Elizabeth, Margaret, David, Robert and Mary.

When John Junior left primary school he went to Warepa to continue his education. Books for further study were bought, but as John Senior developed a whitlow on his finger, John Junior had to leave school to do the ploughing. The books remained untouched in a case at the head of his bed for many years.

Later John went to work for a blacksmith in Warepa. Then he went to Dunedin where he learnt his trade. He was an excellent shoer of horses as all the nails he drove in came up in a neat row round the hoof.

"Here's a present for you, Mother,” said John when he came home one Saturday night. Elizabeth opened the long parcel to reveal a pair of tongs.

"Oh, John, where did you get these?” she asked.

“I made them,” said the lad proudly. The tongs were plain but expertly made, and are still in use.

William, the second son, left school early as his health was not good. With the outdoor life on the farm he grew big and strong. He worked in a flaxmill, went to Oamaru for the harvest then developed gold fever. He went gold mining in Otago Central and later to the Malay States. As he never wrote letters, no trace was ever heard of him again. Elizabeth to her dying day, looked and longed for his return.

Janet, the oldest daughter, helped at home after she left school. Then she went to Marshals at Finegand and various other places. At Otanemomo she met John Adams whom she married in the late eighteen nineties. They went to Waianiwa to live and their many descendants are there to this day.

Charlie was also a blacksmith. He went to John, who was then at Chatton, to learn his trade. After working in various parts of Southland he settled in the North Island.

Elizabeth, owing to a relapse after measles, was not strong. So she was sent to her uncle at “Gowrie” and went to school there for a couple of years. She loved the life at Gowrie. Eventually she went to the North Island to work and there she married Frederick Lincoln.

Margaret went to her cousin Jessie Sherriff at Outram to learn dressmaking. Later Liz was working at “Carol” when she developed housemaid's knee. Maggie went to take her place. There she met James Newson, whom she married in 1900. James bought a farm at Wairuna and remained there until his death fifty years later. His grandson now farms the property.

Then came David who worked at neighbouring farms until he went to Ashley Downs on August 12th, 1895. He there met Agnes Muirhead, whom he married in 1903. He bought land first at Riversdale and later at Crichton where he farmed until his retirement in 1950.

Robert worked at home and stayed there after his father's death in 1905. Mary was at home, and carted the milk to Puerua six miles every day in a horse and spring dray. She also picked up other people's milk en route. The milk was separated at the factory, and the skim milk was brought home for the pigs and calves. 

When Mary wanted to get married, Elizabeth realised she could not carry on the farm any longer. So she sold the property and retired to Balclutha where she lived in independence until her death in April, 1919. She even travelled to the North Island to visit her scattered family. After the farm was sold, Robert took up traction engine driving. He worked for Leonard at Balclutha and later for the Southland County Council. He was bridge building at Riversdale when he caught a severe cold during a flood. As he could not shake off the cold he went to the North Island. He ultimately married and lived in Gisborne.

Mary's first lover was a neighbour, William Dalgleish. John and Elizabeth, however, would not countenance him as a suitor for Mary as he was much too old for her. "What if he should die and leave you a widow with a young family?” they said.

So Mary's attentions were diverted to William McPherson. Alas for the parent's warning. William McPherson died a young man and left Mary a widow with three children to rear. There were no pensions to help in these days. Nothing daunted, Mary took a share in a boarding house in Milton. There she met and married Hugh McAuley.

And so the family were scattered. It was a story of hard work and little money for Elizabeth and John. But their children were brought up in a home where food was plentiful and clothes were sufficient. There was warmth and love, discipline and a deep sense of reverence for the Unseen. Truth and honesty were taught by example as well as precept.

John and Elizabeth sleep together in the neglected cemetery on the quiet Warepa hills. There are few people living now who remember them. They could not leave a fortune to their families but bequeathed to them sound bodies, fine minds and a love of God in their hearts—treasures greater than the wealth of the Indies.

This story is written for the younger generation, that they may realise that their heritage is one of which they need not be ashamed.

On 5th December, 1962, only a few weeks after this story was completed, David Grant was called Home. He had lived through eighty-five years of man's most wonderful progress - from the flail to the header harvesters, from the horse-drawn vehicle to the space-ship, from the muzzle loader to Nuclear weapons. But through it all the simple tenets of the Christian faith remain the same, and he has found the truth of the psalm sung each day at close of school.

And in God's house forever more, My dwelling place shall be!