Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

The brass band played. Red and blue bunting fluttered in the breeze. The train conductor called, ‘All aboard!’, and the express began to chug out of the station. The people on the platform were like tiny flags. We burst out of the suburbs into the green country. The steam from the engine was a white pennant curling in the sky.

All of Waituhi was on that train. Carriages five and six were taken by the Hukareka people, including Rupeni Poata. Behind them were supporters from all over the province. We took up carriages three and four, both the Mormon and non-Mormon sides of the valley. Among us was Nani Mini Tupara. Stay at home while everybody was at Masterton? Get off the grass. Religious differences aside, we were all family, deriving common ancestry from Mahaki, the leader of our iwi.

Grandfather Tamihana and Grandmother Ramona, being VIPs, were up in the first carriage with other provincial officials. Aunt Ruth was with them. She had the pip with me and was still siding with her father.

I think all of us were glad that Grandfather was not sitting with us. After the family meeting Ihaka Mahana and Zebediah Whatu had tried to reconcile him with the legal situation about Mahana Four: no substitutions would be allowed. He remained adamant. In the end I suggested a show of hands be taken and, for the first time, Grandfather Tamihana realised he had lost against his own family. Is this how democracy begins?

‘Mahana Four will never win,’ he said when the results of the vote were read to him. ‘However, if that is what all of you want — to support a losing team — then so be it.’

When I think back on it, I know that Grandfather Tamihana was right to be anxious about the composition of Mahana Four. We had gone into the provincial competition with our usual crew — Uncle Hone, Dad, Pani, Uncle Albie and Sam Whatu as our shearers; Haromi and Frances as sweepers; Aunt Sephora as our wool classer aided by Mum, Miriam — Aunt Ruth had gone back to Mahana Two — and Esther, and David and Benjamin on the press. I was still the sheepo with my two mates Peewee and Mackie and, even though she hated the attention, Glory was a grim presence concentrating on her dags. By contrast, both Poata One and the Lawson syndicate were made up entirely of adults. The Brute was doing the dags , for goodness sake.

Being in the national finals was different. No way could we hope to compete and expect to win — not with Haromi still throwing the occasional fleece upside down or Uncle Albie’s slow pace. But there was no turning back. It must have been luck, after all.

At the last moment, Hukareka asked the judges if they could make two substitutions. The judges agreed on condition that Waituhi also have that option available to them. Thus Uncle Albie stepped down in favour of Uncle Matiu and Aunt Ruth replaced Frances. Grandfather at least got part of his way. Wily as he was, he also tried to have Mohi take over either David or Benjamin’s position on the press. Their father Sam would not have it.

Even at the railway station Grandfather was still scheming, trying to convince Uncle Hone to relinquish his rights as leader to his eldest brother Matiu. From somewhere in the stratosphere Uncle Hone found the strength to say, ‘No, Father Mahana. You gave me Mahana Four. You said it was mine. You cannot tell me to step down from being the head of Mahana Four. It is my family.’

I had indeed brought down Olympus.

Publicity about the special train to Masterton had spread over all the island. Whenever the train stopped along the way people were there to wish us luck and congratulations. Some were relatives from Waituhi who were pining just for a short glimpse of a mum, dad, aunt or uncle. In the end — what the heck — some jumped on and came down with us.

At Waipukurau there was a surprise visitor — Lloyd, in a wheelchair, trying to make sounds with his mouth. Mahana Two were overjoyed to see their old friend. The women shed a tear or two. The men yarned to him as if he was the same old Lloyd. When he saw Grandfather Tamihana and Grandmother Ramona he tried to take Grandfather’s hand to kiss it.

‘Th- an -k y- ou ,’ he enunciated. He was still on the payroll.

The carriage was quiet after Waipukurau. Lloyd had reminded us of our mortality. He had also made me remember the deep love and respect that people had for Grandfather. When had my relationship with Bulibasha started to go wrong? Or did the ‘when’ really matter? The relationship was broken — that was the reality. And it was not entirely my fault. Grandfather just did not want the world to change. I was a new generation. Somewhere between both lay the reason.

‘Masterton next stop,’ the conductor called.

‘Here we go,’ Uncle Hone gulped.

We started to clean up our carriages and change for the reception we knew was awaiting us. When the train steamed to a halt it seemed that all of Masterton was there — including, to Haromi’s delight, an international film crew who asked her to pose for them on a bale of wool. In a trice her cleavage deepened and her skirt developed a split up the side.

‘I’m the mother! I’m the mother!’ Aunt Sarah cried. She tried to join her daughter in the photograph. Like a true professional Haromi just happened to cross her legs — and kick Aunt Sarah off the bale. There were no flies on Haromi.

The mayor of Masterton said a few words of welcome and offered us all the hospitality of the town.

‘I hope you will not mind,’ he said, ‘but we have a ticker tape parade arranged for all the teams and supporters tonight.’

Did we mind ? Not a bit.

People were lined on either side of the road, cheering like mad as we joined the other finalists in a cavalcade of floats down the main street. For this inaugural contest the floats comprised a historical pageant, showing the coming of the first sheep to New Zealand and the development of the wool industry. Some of the floats had models parading woollen garments. Others had bands playing songs like ‘Click Go the Shears Boys, Click Click Click’. There were marching girls, high-stepping along with us, and highland bands playing Scottish songs. Way up front were the Kahungunu Maori Culture Club, singing their hearts out.

The buses were going so slow that Andrew and I pleaded to be let off to march along with the parade — our legs needed the exercise. At that suggestion everybody wanted to pile out too, even old Uncle Pera. Somewhere along the way Haromi got lost, and when we next saw her she was being filmed blowing kisses at us from a long white limousine. How did she manage to get there?

Somebody bumped into me from the back. Poppy. She was laughing and so excited that we did a little dance together in the middle of the street. Full of bravery I pulled her to me and kissed her. She struggled but I held on. I was enjoying it. I had heard that you were supposed to put your tongue down the girl’s throat, but Poppy’s teeth were clamped tight. Aha, but on the side there was a gap and — ouch! Poppy was furious.

‘Oh, you —’

She pushed me away and slapped me hard. Then she ran off.

At last the parade reached the showgrounds where the competition would take place. Streamers were flying, banners were waving and at the entrance was hung a huge golden cloud, glowing with fluorescent lights. The Golden Fleece. Just at that moment three jet planes from Ohakea airbase whooshed across the grounds and vertically into the sky. The planes took my heart up with them.

Later that night, following the official reception, fireworks lit the showground.

‘Are we really here?’ Glory asked.

‘Yes,’ I answered.

She saw that I was lost to the stars. ‘Don’t forget your promise,’ she said.