THE STORY

Long ago, It seems a life time ago, I decided to follow the famous route taken by the British army (settlers)  as they marched south to steal land from the indigenous people. The resistance was at times fierce especially at their huge fortress. Many lives were lost on both sides and as a result of resisting the thieves the Maori had large tracts of land confiscated.

One begins the walk in downtown Auckland and follows the old Great South road as far as your legs will take you. The first night I camped in a park out of sight and used the local toilet block for water. I remember it was hot sweaty work walking through the suburbs, coming across various statues and markers and  occasional European fortifications. The local population had long gotten used to these monuments of bygone days but each one was a discovery to me. As I walked I wondered at the life of settler and Maori alike in the early days of European colonisation...

I awoke to the sound of early morning commuters rushing off to work. Not for the first time I thank my lucky stars that I had saved and virtually cut all
ties with modern society. Living cheaply I was able to follow my dreams such as this walk south along The Great South Road.

With the previous days weariness slowly wearing off I left the city behind
and began to walk through the rolling Bombay Hills to crest out around noon. Below me, far off lay the sprawling Waikato plains; birth child of the
Waikato River, New Zealand's longest river. As my eyes wandered the
checkered meadows, the stands of pine and wind breaks and hedges straight out of Mother England, I was not surprised that the European settlers coveted the vast rich river soils and were prepared to go to war to get them.

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I decided to camp amidst a small patch of bush overlooking the plains and
put up my tent with the musty scent of New Zealand forest rich with the
aroma of lemonwood and rotting vegetation plain and pleasantly strong in
the air.

The night was studded with stars and the roar of large lorries as they
engine braked down the steep Bombay Hills. Early morning , and I arose to a heavy mist the sound of traffic seemingly distant and the sounds of men
preparing for war seemingly  so real with towering Kahikatea soaring up into the clinging white mist. It must have been about here that the armies faced off. The British red coats in orderly ranks preparing musket and cannon. The Maori busy with the finishing touches to the Mere Mere fortifications, scouts of both sides feeling other out in skirmishes in bush and river crossing.

By the time I had had a leisurely breakfast the mist had begun to lift and I
thought it safe enough to venture out onto the highway once again.

I always walk towards the oncoming traffic and keep a wary eye to the rear ever ready to jump into a ditch or flatten myself against a safety barrier. New
Zealand drivers are far from the best and walkers rare. Many  drivers do
not know what to do when confronted with the weird apparition of a lone
walker out on the highway.   (((  A little aside here; every walker who has
ever walked a highway will no doubt know the glassy stare of most of the
highways drivers and their passengers. Professional drivers, I notice are
wary, and the curious stare with intelligence while the rich merely look on
much as an old milk cow does on its way to the slaughter house.)))

Down the Bombay's  with the roar of traffic close at hand I found the
occasional mile marker stuck in a gorse hedge or buried in a thicket of
blackberry. With flaking white paint these old posts of rot resistant Totara
are the living legacy of the old 'Great South Road" but sadly they lie
bleaching in the sun, forgotten memorials of our past.

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On I trudged, alone on the highway, thirst becoming a real problem until I
asked at a roadside garage and filled my body and  an old wine flask with sufficient water for a day as long as I didn't wash with it. As evening began to bear down I climbed up to unnamed heights where the British army had sited their cannon to bombard the Mere Mere fortifications across the marshy ground hundreds of metres away.

Mere Mere was a forward operating base for the Maori, consisting of three Pa [fortified places built by Maori]: Pukekawa in the west, Paparata in the east, and Mere Mere itself. The line was held with 1100 to 1500 warriors drawn from the tribes in the North Island. From here raiding parties launched raids on settlers, messengers and sentries, sometimes in small groups , and sometimes with large raiding parties able to attack fortified British outposts. Casualties were light with about 50 soldiers killed and some dozen or so settlers and probably a like number of Maori.

As the raids took effect the British were slowed for several months allowing
the King movement [a loose federation of tribes formed to protect Maori lands] to continue work on Mere Mere and a much larger fort at Ragiriri further south.

Finally as 1863  drew to a close General Cameron's 4000 soldiers were able to advance on the Mere Mere line from north and south and the Maori put up but token resistance and fled south to their next line of defence.

As the new day dawned, I felt weary from my travels and took my time hitting
the highway once again. I climbed up to the main Mere Mere fortifications.
The centre of these had been flattened to form a barrack-like square for the
invading British forces. Here the Army rested  before the march resumed
south to attack the largest and best defended Pa in the Waikato.

At the mighty Rangiriri Pa I spent many hours wandering the various trenches, and rifle pits. Right here men fought and died. Some for King and
country, some for pay and adventure, some no doubt to gain honor and
prestige, while the Maori fought to protect their homes, their way of life.
The British lost about 130 men, killed or wounded while the Maori lost about 50 killed or wounded.

Looking around at the rich farm land, it was easy to see why this land was
so coveted by the new arrivals to New Zealand ( or Aotearoa as it is known
to the Maori ). But all that is history now. The thieves are long dead and
the robbed lie next to them in the rich soil of the Waikato. Human history
is littered with the bones of many battles where the strong took from the
less strong. It is not fair, it just IS!!

I ended my walk in Hamilton for the moment, remembering the many sites and the roar of the traffic, the friendly wave of train drivers and the occasional motorist roaring down "The Great South Road "!!

Contributed by: Ivan

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