Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

‘What promise!’

‘You said you would never leave me, Simeon.’

I took Glory’s hand.

We had arrived.

Imagine this if you can. A bright Wairarapa morning. The sky has just been washed, rinsed and hung out to dry. A traffic officer, all spit and polish in white uniform, directs the line of cars which, today, are all heading to one place — a stadium with a sparkling golden cloud hovering over the entrance.

‘There it is!’

The traffic is directed to park in fields next to the stadium. Family groups are walking swiftly to the entrance, queuing for tickets, bustling through the turnstiles to get a good seat.

‘Let’s find a good seat, Dad. Over there! See?’

The women wear floral dresses and hats. The men wear long trousers and sports coats. The teenagers and children assume an insouciant air, dressed in fashions straight out of the New Zealand Woman’s Weekly . Families have brought hats against the sun, and picnic baskets.

‘Would you like a programme, madam?’ The programme sellers are pretty teenage girls from the local schools. They wear Golden Fleece sashes across their shoulders.

‘Thank you, dear!’

The children want ice creams and pink candyfloss. They settle down for the curtain raiser about to begin.

‘What’s first on the programme, Dad?’

A marching team is performing intricate manoeuvres on the green, right in front of the main seating area. The girls look smart and pretty with braided military jackets, white skirts and white boots. Their leader twirls her baton and blows short sharp whistle commands. The team’s choreography dissolves from military two-step into a ferris wheel pattern, a high-stepping box pattern and back into a perfect single line slow-marching towards the stadium.

‘Oh well done, girls!’

While the girls are marching, local carpenters are still hammering away and adding the final touches to the three stages which have been erected in the middle of the arena.

‘Goodness, will they be finished on time, Dad?’

The stages, marked Stage 1, Stage 2 and Stage 3, are arranged facing each other in a horseshoe shape. This way the shearing gangs can keep an eye on one another as they compete in the heats. The arrangement also means that no matter where you are sitting in the audience, you will have a good view of all the stages.

At the front of each stage is the shearer’s board, with five positions for the shearers in each gang. The board is just wide enough for the sweepers, wool handlers and person on the dags to do their work.

‘They’ll have to be careful, love, otherwise they’ll fall off!’

To one side of the board is the fleecos’ table, where the fleece will be thrown and the sacks for the skirting pieces. Close to the table is the wool press. Behind the board are the shearer’s holding pens and behind them are the bigger pens where the sheep are already waiting to be shorn. That’s where the sheepos will work. When the sheep have been shorn, down they’ll slide to the front of the horseshoe, where the judges will look at them and judge the quality of the shearers’ work.

Shearers shear twenty-five sheep each. The best overall shearer in the competition will get the Jason statuette.

‘Goodness me, how will the judges be able to choose!’

‘It’s going to be ber-loody close, love.’

Let’s have a look at the programme.

Twenty-seven shearing gangs have made it to the finals of the first Golden Fleece championships.

‘Doesn’t that just make you feel so proud to be from Masterton?’

The shearing gangs have come from way up north of Whangarei to way down south of Invercargill. There’s even a gang of Aussie shearers come all the way from Darwin. Doesn’t that just take the cake?

Today are the preliminary heats — nine heats, with three gangs competing in each. At the end of the day there will be nine winners. Tomorrow, the nine winners will face each other in the three semifinal heats. Three days after that, the three winners of those will face each other in the finals.

‘Which shearing gangs are in the first heat, love?’

The spectators begin to place their bets. Let’s see — Morrison (Wanganui), Karaka (Christchurch) and Simpson (Bay of Plenty). Let’s put five quid on Morrison! Oh, and our own Wairarapa gang, the Gregsons, are in the second heat, we must bet on them. Who are they up against? Oh dear, that shearing gang from Otago is supposed to be very good … Ah well, that’s the luck of the draw.

Now, when are the Maoris on? You know, the family whose photo was in the newspaper? Ah, there, heat 6 this afternoon. Wilson (Hawke’s Bay), Jelley (Southland) — and Mahana Four (Gisborne).

Ah yes, the photo in the newspaper. If you ask people today what they remember about that first Golden Fleece championship in 1958, it’s not the name of the shearing gang which won but ‘Oh yes. The family of God.’

The photograph was a lucky snap taken by a photographer from the New Zealand Press Association and wired to all the newspapers in the country as well as to Australia and England. The London Times picked the photograph up and put it on the front page under the headline: The family that prays together shears together.

The photograph shows Mahana Four at prayer the night before the heats. Uncle Hone, Uncle Matiu, Dad, Sam Whatu and Pani are standing at the back. Aunt Sephora, Aunt Ruth, Aunt Miriam, Aunt Kate, Mum and Haromi stand within their protective arc. David, Benjamin, Peewee and Mackie are on the left. Glory and I are on the right. In the foreground, Grandfather Tamihana has his hand upraised. Behind us flutters Aunt Sarah’s flag, the maroon one with the golden angel at its centre. None of us even knew the photograph was being taken. We had our eyes shut.

The photograph caught the public imagination.

In the photograph Mahana Four looks the very picture of serenity and calm. The reality was — hardly. No sooner had we arrived at the stadium than Aunt Sarah, who had been watching the heats all day, came running into the dressing rooms like a chicken with her head cut off.

‘Oh my goodness, oh heck, oh —’ She acted as if it was the end of the world.

‘Now what’s this all about, sis?’ Uncle Hone asked.

‘I knew I should have brought the cloaks,’ Aunt Sarah gasped. ‘Or at least the sashes.’

‘What for?’

‘Have you seen what the other gangs are wearing? They’ve made new outfits! Bright red singlets. Or yellow shirts with their own insignias. Even Hukareka had the presence of mind to bring their hockey shirts. And what is Mahana Four wearing?’

We looked at Aunt Sarah blankly. Didn’t she know? Our usual rough woollen pants held up with string, of course! Our black singlets and sack moccasins, naturally! And Mum and the fleecos were wearing what they always wore — their dresses with coveralls and bedroom slippers.

‘This is how we always look when we’re at the shed,’ Aunt Ruth shrugged.

‘You will look like hobos!’

‘Well,’ Haromi yawned, ‘I wouldn’t say everybody.’ She had teased her hair up and planned to wear high heels.

Uncle Hone tried to calm Aunt Sarah down. ‘This is a shearing competition, sis, not a beauty contest.’ He looked at Haromi. ‘No high heels. You throw the fleeces crooked enough already.’

To top is off, Uncle Matiu started to panic too.

‘Look, bro,’ he said, ‘we’re the only gang with kids in it.’

‘What’s the fuss?’ Uncle Hone asked. ‘This is the way Mahana Four has always been. We’re a family shearing gang.’

‘Don’t you understand?’ Uncle Matiu said. ‘Of the twenty-seven gangs here, all except us are composed entirely of adults. Even Rupeni Poata’s gang. What hope have Simeon, Peewee and Mackie against adult sheepos? Those other sheepos are fast. They’re not worried about beating each other. All they’re worried about is beating the clock. Father wants Mohi to come in as sheepo —’