The Hori Project - One nights babysitting widened my education

One nights babysitting widened my education

One night I'm sitting down to enjoy a quiet evening at home while the missus and the mother in law go to the pictures. I read the evening paper right through, from the overseas news about shooting coots into space to the ads for used cars and how to cure dandruff. I'm just about to go to bed when a knock comes at the door.

It's the pakeha wahine from up the road.

“Hori” she says “I'm in a jam. We've promised to go to a party and our baby sitter has let us down. I wonder if you would be so kind as to sit in our place and look after little Cedric. Cedric is a dear little chap and will give you no trouble”

Well spare me days! I have had some jobs in my time from being on the business end of a popper drill to driving a bulldozer, but py korry, I haven't had a go at this babysitting racket.

“OK” I tell this lady, “I'll give it a go but I've never been in this kind of job before”

I go up to this place and this lady she says:” There you are Hori, There are some sandwiches and some reading matter. There's a bottle of beer in the fridge so help yourself”

And off this dame goes and leaves me to it.

I have a gink at the sandwiches and they measure exactly one and a quarter inches by three sixteenths in thickness – just enough to make you hungry.

Well, I tell myself I will read something, so I pick up a Ladies Home Journal dated 1948 and a book of plays some pakeha joker called Coward – a punk name for even a scribbler.

A few minutes later who should show up but little Cedric.

“Hello little man” I say “ I thought you had gone to bed”

“So what?” he says “The mum and dad are out, so I've come to keep you company”

This little joker is aged about five or six but has the look of a panelbeater or a used car salesman just about to make a kill.

“You're a Maori, ain't you” asks Cedric

“Yes, boy, I'm a Maori and proud of it” I tell him

Then this kid says, “Do a haka”

“Sorry son” I tell him, “I don't feel in the mood to do hakas”

“Well then, poke your tongue out” he orders.

To please the kid I put the tongue out.

“Shucks!” he says. “That's not a Maori tongue. It's white and looks like Dad's after he's been to the smoke concert”

Then this kid asks me about a hundred questions.

“Do you keep tadpoles?...Do you like flies with their wings off?...Why do goldfish open and shut their mouths all the time?...Why do women talk all the time?...Why does dad always say 'OK dear, you win...Why does mum say she has nothing to wear when she is always giving her clothes away to those collectors?”

“Well, son” I say, “it's about time you toddled off to bed”

“Right “ says Cedric “but you must tell me a story”

“Ok Cedric” I say “one story and then you go to bed.”

“Once upon a time,” I begin “there were three bears. The father bear, the mother bear and the baby bear - “

“Crikey,” this kid says “don't pull that old stuff on me! Tell me about the dame in the night club in Auckland who wore the plastic skin-tight. Mum and Dad know the story but they say they won't tell me about it till I get older”

Then the kid starts off again with more questions. “Do you know Mrs Smith up the road? Well, she had to get the dose of goo for hydatids. Mum says she is a lady dog and all dogs have to get this dose”

I just listen.

“What do you like for the big race on Saturday?” asks Cedric, changing the subject before I could work out about the lady dog.

“Well,” I tell him, “I think Firefly will be hard to beat”

“He won't start” says Cedric “Dad backed him last week and he told mum he was dead”

This kid seems to know plenty.

“Do you like night caps?” asks Cedric

“Never wear 'em” I tell him

“Struth, you don't wear 'em, you drink 'em. Dad has a cupboard full of them over there” he cracks back.

I tell you this boy knows plenty.

“Dad always says 'Well, well I think I'll have a night cap before going to bed' and he has a pop at all these drinks in the cupboard” Cedric goes on

I feel I could get along with Cedrics old man.

“I like the green one that tastes like peppermint” says Cedric “but perhaps you'd like the white one that Mum says is only water but is good for the kidneys”

“Well, my boy” I say at last “you'll not have any of this plonk, so go to bed or I'll slap your bottom”

“Ha ha” says Cedric “Dad is always saying he will do that, but he never does”

“Well, I'm not your dad and I mean what I say” I tell him.

He doesn't seem impressed, so I pick him up and put him across my knee and give him the plurry hard slaps.

Spare me days, this kid says as I put him to bed “I like you Hori. You're a good joker. Now you can tell me that story about the three bears”

I start to tell him this story and have just got to the part where Goldilocks is discovered when I look at this kid and see he is fast asleep.

When Cedrics Pop and Mum come home they ask if he gave any trouble

“No trouble” I tell them

“Did he get up?”

“Yes he did. Said he wanted a night cap”

“How did you get him to go back to bed?”

“That was easy. I just smacked his plurry bottom”

“Did you really do that to our Cedric?”

“Yes I really did” I tell them. “And someone should do the same to you for letting him drink that plonk. How do you expect him to grow to be the big man if your going to ruin his belly with that rubbish? How do you expect him to deal with the half-gallon jar when he grows up if his inside is eaten away with plurry night caps and things?”

That rocked 'em a bit and I let it sink in.

Finally I say “Cedric and I get on alright together. Send him to my place some time and I'll give some good Maori tucker like the crayfish, the pigs trotter and the pickle onion.

I guess that rocked 'em even more.

The Half Gallon Jar - The right oil at the races cost me plenty

The right oil at the races cost me plenty

A few weeks ago I am under the house trying to get a spell away from the missus and the mother in law, and have just pulled the cork from the half-Gallon jar when a pakeha joker from up the road blows in to pass the time of day and talk about this and that and one thing and another. This pakeha always seems to come along just when I have opened a new jar.

I tell him that the beer is not very cool and as it is a hot day he had better have some iced water.

He says that water is all right for putting around ships or using for hydro-electric works, but the only time he drinks it is when it is mixed with gin or whiskey or some other plonk like that. He says that he can put up with the beer being warm cause he only wants to drink for the good fellowship and that sort of hooey.

After he has had a few pots he says to me like this: “Say, Hori. What about you driving me to the races on Saturday 'cause I can get the good oil from a mate of mine?”

I tell him that I don't need the oil since the old V8 has had the rebore.

He say, “Crikey, I don't mean that sort of oil. What I mean is the dinkum oil, the straight griffin and the low down about the horses.

I say I don't know much about this new korero but if he can put me onto a winner I will give it a go.

The mother in law she say I had better stay at home and do the garden but if I go I must shout her ten bob each way on no. 7 in the big race. We get to the races and I feel very thirsty after the long drive in the old car, so I say I would like a drink. Well, we find the bar and, py korry, I never see such a lot of old barmen – they all about 80 years old and take about 20 minutes to serve a beer. We ask for a beer and an old chap gives us one of those medicine glasses about three-quarters full and he charges us sixpence a throw.

Py Korry, I reckon at this price the half gallon jar would cost about ten quid.

We we go and have a look at the horses and I pick out one that looks good to me. His number is No. 5, so I tell my pakeha friend that I will put the ten bob each way on this prad.

He says, “Don't be the plurry fool. Wait until I get the drum.”

I say, “What's this drum business?”

He says “It's the same as the oil, the griffin and the low down”

At last we find this coot who is going to give us this drum business. He is a skinny pakeha who looks like he has been living on bird seed for a long time. He talks out of the side of his mouth and wears his hat on the back of his head. This bloke says to us to wait at the bottom of the Members Stand while he goes and sees the heads. After a while he comes back with two very fat pakehas They are smoking the big cigars and wearing the binoculars on the belly.

The skinny joker who talks out the side of his mouth says that these gentlemen would like a drinks, so we all go to the bar again.

The side of the mouth coot says for me to touch the pants first , so I say, “OK five beers please”

They all say, “Not on your plurry life” and they order the double whiskey and the double vodka and tomato juice. They tell me to have the square gin with a schnapps as a chaser. Py korry, the only difference between schnapps and square gin is that on tastes like gear oil and the other tastes like used gear oil.

All this sets me back about a quid, and I don't feel too happy cause I want that quid to put on the no. 5 horse. I tell one of these fat blokes that I like this no 5 horse and he takes the skinny bloke to one side and they have a korero.

The big joker says to me “Where you get the drum?”

I say that I not get any drum, I only like the look of that horse.

The big joker say to me. “Listen mate, that horse has got no show. He is dead”

I say, “he is not dead. I can see him now and he looks very much alive”

He then say, “I don't mean he is dead that way, but he is not a jigger. He is going to be hooked, pulled and run into the ground.”

Py korry, I think this fat bloke must know something I then ask this big pakeha how he know all about this horse.

“Brother” he says “I own that horse and I have told the jockey not to knock him about”

“Hori: he says, “you had better be on no. 10 instead”

I think to myself py korry, this coot must know something alright, so I take his advice and back no. 10. Stiffen the crows, this no.10 dead heats for ninth and the no. 5 wins and pays a tenner to win and the price of several half-Gallon jars for a place. Py korry, this big joker he very angry and say he will report the jockey to the stewards for not obeying instructions. I tell all these pakeha blokes that I have to put the ten bob each way on No 7 in the next race for my mother in law.

The big joker say “What does she know? So I tell him she know everything.

“Well” he says, “she don't know that last night this horse ate his bedding and has got the bellyache”

I say to him to let me have a look at this horse through his binoculars, but he tells me that I can't see through these glasses cause they are full of cigar ash and he only wears them on the belly to stop the ash from getting on his clothes.

It is more than my life's worth no to do as my mother in law says, so I tell him I must back no.7

Mr side of the mouth he say “Alright Hori give me the money cause the tote is nearly closed and I'll run and put it on for you”

This coot he don't come back, so we go and have a look at the race. Py korry, my mother in law she know something alright. This No. 7 he wins and pays 50 smackers for the win and ten quid for the place. I am very pleased caused this will put me on side with the wifes mother for a long time. I wait until after the last race but I can't find that joker with my money.

When I get home I find that the mother in law has been earwigging to the races on the noise box and she comes running out to meet me to get her winnings.

I tell her all about what happened.

For once in her life she don't earbash me. But just crowns me with the lid of the pressure cooker.

When I get the stitches out I think I will do the garden on Saturdays.

Will anyone who sees a skinny bloke who talks out of the side of his mouth and wears the hat at the back of his head, please let me know.

The Half Gallon Jar - Those M.P. Jokers make the entertaining korero

Those M.P jokers make the entertaining korero

[For those of us who are not well versed in New Zealand politics in general and of the 60's in particular.  I have included links to the relevent Wikipedia articles down the bottom] 

Py Korry, I listen to the radio to hear those pakeha M.P Jokers making the korero from Wellington. Tell you what, I think it more better than listening to the wrestling or the football. I think it will be even more better when it get near the elections, and better still when we get the televisions so we can see these MP fellas in action. The other night they all have a fair go and make the korero all night until four o'clock in the morning.

Some of the members they not feel very well, 'cause some have the flu and some have the belly ache, and one have the ulcer on the leg. All these jokers say they rather stay in bed 'cause they all feel so crook. Mr Holyoake say that he think it more better if these sick fellas go home to bed. Mr Nash he say not on your plurry life, and he send a member out to Bellamys (that's the pub in parliament House) to round up all the sick jokers with the whip.

In the Bellamys you can't buy the half -gallon jar but only the small bottle of the lager and the whiskey. Mr Nash think it the good idea if one of his members sick that Mr Holyoake send one of his men out to the Bellamys too. I think this the good idea, then they can have a drink together and make friends and not argue the toss about the Nelson railway, 'cause neither of them would care much about it anyway once they were in the Bellamys. After a while all the members they very tired and lose the temper and say the bad things about each other.

Mr Speaker, he the referee, but he not blow the whistle but he call out “Order! Order!” when he thinks someone not get the fair go. When Mr Speaker hears a member call a joker a plurry liar he stops the whole show and he says, “No Ho. Gentle-man can use this talk” and he makes the joker withdraw their bad words.

The member then he say:”OK Mr speaker, the Hon. Gentleman he not the plurry liar but he convert the truth to his own use.”

Mr Speaker not give the penalty this time but gives the warning and sort of orders the set scrum to go down.

After a while up gets the Hon. Mabel Howard to make the korero. She the minister for the bobby calf. She no sooner starts to get cracking when some National joker make the interject.

I don't think this National chap been in the parliament for very long 'cause he don't know how good this Mabel Howard is when she gets into action.

She say:” Mr Speaker, I came into this house to my the speech and I know my rights. I am not going to be stopped by the Hon. Gentleman on the other side of the house”

Py korry, she declare the open season for this joker and give him both barrels. All the Labour jokers say “Hear hear” and a lot of the National members say “Hear hear” and everybody clap 'cause they know that the Mabel Howard is the wahine minister and all wahines have the last word anyway.

Mr Nordmeyer he not say very much on this night 'cause he the very tired man after he make the Budget. Mr Nash tell him to take it easy for a while' cause he want him to sort of play front row for Labour in the big test in November. Mr Nash he the only man not tired cause he used to sitting up all night in the airplane all over the world. Py korry, that Walter Nash he the great stayer alright, just like the Lochgair in the Northern. That Holyoake chap he not the bad joker either. More better I think if he were the single man cause he would get all the wahine votes. He the good looking joker.

I feel sorry for that Mr Speaker. He got the hard job in the house cause when all the other members go tot he Bellamy to have the quick one he have to stay in the chair to say the “Order! Order!”

Another man in the House is a joker by the name of Hansard. He is the kind of line umpire to help Mr Speaker. This feller is not on the inside of the house but both Mr Nash and Mr Holyoake are always saying: “Lets go and see Hansard”

Hansard I think lives out in the Bellamys and keeps a record of what the members say away back to the Dark Ages. Anyway he not in the House proper otherwise we would hear him on the radio.

If Mr Hansard live out in the Bellamys, py korry, I think he got the best job in the House of Parliament.

Notes

[Shamelessly pinched from Wikipedia]

Mr Holyoake:  

Sir Keith Jacka Holyoake, KG, GCMG, CH, QSO, KStJ (11 February 1904 – 8 December 1983) was a New Zealand politician. The only person to have been both Prime Minister and Governor-General of New Zealand,[1] Holyoake was National Party Prime Minister from 20 September 1957 to 12 December 1957, then again from 12 December 1960 to 7 February 1972. He was appointed as Governor-General in 1977 and served until 1980.

Holyoake is to date the third longest serving New Zealand Prime Minister (just under 12 years), surpassed only by Richard Seddon's 13 years and William Massey's close to 13 years; he was also the first to be born in the 20th century.[2] He was known for his diplomatic style and "plummy" voice. He was also fondly (or mockingly) known as Kiwi Keith, a name given to him in childhood to distinguish him from an Australian child with the same name.[2]

 

Mr Nash:

Sir Walter Nash, GCMG, CH (12 February 1882 – 4 June 1968) served as the 27th Prime Minister of the Second Labour Government of New Zealand from 1957 to 1960 and was also highly influential in his role as Minister of Finance. He is noted for his long period of service, having been associated with the Labour Party since its creation.

Mabel Howard: 

Mabel Bowden Howard (18 April 1894 – 23 June 1972) was a well-known New Zealand trade unionist and politician. She was the first woman secretary of a male union (the Canterbury General Labourers’ Union).

She was a Member of Parliament for the Labour Party from 1943 until 1969. In 1947 she became New Zealand's first woman cabinet minister when she was made Minister of Health and Minister in charge of Child Welfare.

She is remembered for waving two large pairs of bloomers in parliament in support of her successful campaign to have clothing sizes standardised.

Bobbys:

Bobby calves are young calves which are to be slaughtered for human consumption

 

National:  

The New Zealand National Party (Māori: Rōpū Nāhinara, "National" or "the Nats") currently is the largest party in the New Zealand House of Representatives and in November 2008 formed a minority government with support from three minor parties.

 

Labour:  

The New Zealand Labour Party (Māori: Rōpū Reipa o Aotearoa) is a New Zealand political party. It describes itself as centre-left[1] and socially progressive[2] and has been one of the two primary parties of New Zealand politics since 1935.

After defeat in the 2008 elections, the Labour party forms the second-largest (in terms of parliamentary seats) political party represented in the New Zealand Parliament, and functions as the core of the Official Parliamentary Opposition.

On 8 November 2008, former leader Helen Clark announced she was stepping down as leader, saying a new leader was expected to be named by Christmas.[3] Her Deputy Michael Cullen followed her the next day.[4] On 11 November 2008 the parliamentary party caucus chose Phil Goff and Annette King to replace Clark and Cullen respectively.[5]

 
Mr Nordmeyer:

Sir Arnold Henry Nordmeyer, ONZ, KCMG (7 February 1901 – 2 February 1989), born Heinrich Arnold Nordmeyer, was a New Zealand politician. He was leader of the Labour Party for three years while it was in Opposition. 

Lochgair:

A racing horse

Hansard:

New Zealand Parliamentary Debates (Hansard) is the edited report of the proceedings of the House.  

   

The Half Gallon Jar Project: Do it yourself racket is well named.

DO IT YOURSELF RACKET IS WELL NAMED

A few weeks ago I'm sitting on a three-ply tea chest which some enemy had left at my place for kindling. I'm thinking about all thee jobs I have to do around the place,, such as dealing with the twitch and oxalis, to say nothing of the blackberry and honeysuckle which creeps on to my section from the rich pakeha coot's place at the back of the section.

I get to thinking about this and that and one thing and another and say to myself, “Is it worth it?”

More better, I think, to pay rent and let the plurry landlord keep the place in order.

To make matters worse I get to thinking about all the dough I have to find during the few weeks for rates and interest and things like that.

In this mood I don't want any problems other than getting the cork out of the half-gallon jar.

Just then the wife's mother comes up to me and says like this:

“Hori, the driveway is a disgrace to the street and the weeds are are growing up through the old bitumen. I think it's about time you put it down in concrete.”

“Spare me days, “ I tell her, “I have just been nutting it out how I'm going to pay all my bills and you come across with a new on one just about the 50 quid touch.”

“Tut, tut” she says “you must not talk like that. Don't you read the papers about all this 'Do it yourself' business?

“Look at me, “ she bleats, “I used to spend a lot of money on the perm wave but now I do it myself.”

Crikey, she does not have to call for tenders to get her hair trimmed!

It's all done up with paper clips and pipe cleaners and looks like Topsy in the book I used to read when I was a was a kid. Mind you, she is not the full blooded Maori, otherwise she would have to get the motor-mower to keep the hair in order!
Anyway I decide to give this plurry concrete drive a go and order all the shingle and cement to arrive on the Saturday morning.

When the stuff is on the job a pakeha joker with horn rimmed glasses stops outside my and says “I take it, sir, that you are about to lay a concrete drive. What, may I ask, is the mixture you intend to put down?”

“Six to to one,“ I tell him, which is better than you get when you back the plurry racehorses.

“Ridiculous, My man,”” he barks. “Just a pure waste of cement. Eight to one is plenty.”

Another pakeha walks past a bit later and asks me what mixture I am going too use, and when I tell him he says: “Not strong enough. It will never hold. You had better use four to one”

Next morning the first pakeha arrives and says he will give me a hand.

“What will you do?” I ask, and he says he will do the tamping.

He gets a box to sit on and takes a stick, then when I pour the concrete he mucks about with it and seems to be enjoying himself.

The other pakeha then arrives and tells me that he will be only too pleased to supervise the job.

“I thanks” I say. “Take the easy chair, “ and I produce another box with a sack on it.

After a couple of hours these coots' wives arrive to see that they are not getting into trouble.

All this time the mother in law and the missus are working double shifts making tea, scones and cakes for these people. After a while who should I see coming down the road but the wife's brother.

“Pardon me, folks” I say and I get under the house smartly and put my six pigs trotters and crayfish claws in a kerosene tin and mark it “Weedkiller”

I ask this brother in law if he will give me a hand. “Sure he tells me. “Where is the beer so I can help these good people?” Stiffen the crows, this coot couldn't work in an iron lung.

Well, I seem to be the only joker who is doing any work. This do it yourself racket is right and am I doing it myself!

Everybody is inside putting scones, cakes and tea where the flies can't get them, and the women are having a great time time.

Up till now I have not produced any drink stronger than tea 'cause I'm keeping a couple of half-gallon jars for Sunday morning. Do you know what? That brother in law of mine holds the floor and tells these people that I am very grateful for all the good advice I have received from these pakehas and opens a jar to give them one for the road.

That night the wife's sister arrives and says “Well Hori, it was about time you fixed that drive up with concrete. It looks super duper”

She then runs up and down it with the stiletto-heeled shoes. Well, spare me days, you should have a bo-peep at it now.

It looks like a North Auckland beach after the opening of the toheroa season.

Next morning I'm sitting at the bottom of the section opening a sugar bag of pipis which a friend of mine gave me when my small boy comes along and says “Dad, what are you doing?”

“Look, son,” I tell him. “I'm opening pipis and you can tell your mother, and your granny and all the pakeha coots from up the road that I don't want the job supervised cause this is one job where I can do it myself.”

The Half-Gallon Jar Project: Introduction and Did you ever see a Maori with green fingers?

“The Half-Gallon Jar” is poured by request.

The Hori articles which fill it first appeared in N.Z. Home Line and Home Companion and are published here in book form in response to pleadings of readers of those journals in many parts of the country.

If you know your Hori you will be in step with the title; if you don't you won't read far before stumbling over his first half-Gallon jar.

Hori's world is not big, but it's full of fun. In addition to Hori himself, its principal characters are his wife, his mother in law, his brother in law and “the pakeha joker from up the street,” though other lesser characters make their brief appearances.

If at times Hori appears unreasonably hard on such people as car salesmen, traffic cops and politicians, he's only having his bit of fun. He's a well-fed, happily married, easy going Maori who gets on well with everyone and asks only to be allowed to tinker with his old V8, to sit and meditate while watching the oxalis grow, to eat his favorite crayfish claws, pigs' trotters and mussels and to drain his half gallon jar at the weekends.

A fair question would be whether Hori is really a Maori. He is not. In real life he is W. Norman McCallum of Waiatarua Road, Remuera, Auckland, a New Zealander of Scottish Descent. As a commercial traveler in the North Auckland and Waikato districts for many years he made countless fir

friends among the Maori people, and his admiration of “the first New Zealanders” is unbounded.

DID YOU EVER SEE A MAORI WITH GREEN FINGERS?

How come that every time I pull the cork out of the new half-gallon jar of beer somebody comes along to make the interrupt?

  If it's not the the pakeha coot from up the road, it's the wife's brother, or the mother in law or the missus.

Last Sunday I'm sitting on the upturned dinghy and have just settled down to enjoy a quiet pot, and to think about this and that, and one thing and another, when the mother in laws shows up and says like this:

“”Hori,” she says, “time you got the garden ready for the spring season and prepared the ground for the tomatoes and the lettuce and all that.”

Py korry, my mind goes back to last year when I have a go at this gardening business. Spare me days this is a great game for garage proprietors and panel-beaters, or anybody else with plenty of money.

First I plant the cabbage and the lettuce but the slugs and snails have a fair go and eat them all up.

The bloke at the seed shop tells me to buy the slug killer, which is like the rolled oats or breakfast food. I put in more plants and this stuff all round them. While I'm doing this I see a mother and a father slug looking at me from behind a stone.

I say to myself, “O.K. You plurry slugs. Have a pop at this stuff and you'll have a bellyache in the morning.”

Next morning I go out to have a look at the plants and py korry, they've all gone, and this slug killer goo is eaten up too. I take a look behind the stone and, spare me days, I see the mother and father slug as full as a butchers dog, and a lot of little slugs playing about fit as the plurry fiddle. The mother slug, it seems, has had the korero to the nippers this way:

“You kids eat up your roughage 'cause it's a nice change from the green stuff. Your dad and I will finish up the lettuce, with a bit of oxalis for afters.”

So I go back to the see shop bloke and tell him that the slug killer is about as useful as a glass eye in a keyhole.

He says, “well, brother, greens are hard to grow this year, so you had better have a go at the tomatoes instead.”

I buy about two dozen tomato plants from this coot and some blood and bone and other manure.

I'm just leaving the shop when he says, “Of course you must spray the plants for the blight. You got a spray pump and the spraying goo?”

I tell him I have not got all this hardware and stuff.

“Come with me,” he says and he shows me all sorts of spray pumps, some are about ten bob, others a quid and he's got another line at £2 10s.

“O.K.,” I say, “ give me the ten bob one.”

But he say, “Those no plurry good. You better take the £2 10s job 'cause it is the double action.”

I say, “Well, whats good about that?”

“Well,” he says, “it squirts when you push it and squirts when you pull it, and it also still squirts when you stop. In fact it saves a lot of work and effort.”

I never did like work, so I buy this double action gadget.

After a while the plants grow up plurry good, so it's time to start this spraying business.

All the kids have a go, and the missus and the mother in law, too, till you can't see the plants for the spray stuff all over the leaves. Py korry, these plants have no show of getting the blight 'cause they are covered up like the second mortgage with spray. When the tomatoes are nearly ripe I notice that they all have a round hole bored through them, and the pakeha joker from up the road tells me that they have got the borer and need a different kind of spray.

I go back to the salesman bloke and he says I have to use arsenate of lead, but I will have to sign for it 'cause it is poison. I ask him why I have to sign for this goo, and he tells me that I might give some to my mother in law.

“Stiffen the crows” I say “that is good stuff. What about letting me have some without signing for it?”

This coot won't do this, so I sign the book. Well I spray all the plants again with this poison the the borer seem to like this stuff.

Py korry, then I think perhaps they don't eat it but take it home to Mrs Borer's mother. We don't get any good tomatoes 'cause they're all full of these little holes, with little green bugs peeping out of them. I get a pencil and start to reckon up how much money I have spent on these plants and things. When I add up the spray, the poison, the plants and the cost of the spray pump, I find I have spent about the fiver-and all for nothing.

When I tell the coot in the seed shop all about it, he says, “Hori, I don't think you got the green fingers.”

I say to him, “The only time I see the green fingers they were on my old uncle Lou, and he'd been dead about a fortnight.”

So I'm feeling plurry unhappy about all this dough gone west and then the mother in law comes up to me and says “Look, Hori, at the lovely tomatoes I've just bough. Aren't they beaut and only 8d the pound!”

I think I will just keep on growing the oxalis. It doesn't need much attention and will even grow in concrete.

GLOSSARY

PAKEHA – EUROPEAN

PY KORRY – BY GOLLY, BY JOVE.

KORERO – TALK,, SPEECH

PLURRY – BLOODY