THE LATE MR MATTHEW FOWLDS.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8351, 7 February 1907, Page 6

THE LATE MR MATTHEW FOWLDS.

A MOST INTERESTING INTERVIEW. A cable message recently announced the death of Mr Matthew Fowlds, father of the Hon. G. Fowlds, Minister of Education, at the great age of 101 years. We have to thank a correspondent for a most interesting article, that he has thoughtfully forwarded, taken from the Glasgow News, entitled "A Centenarian Weaver." It is as follows: "Too old at forty." The remarkable dictum of an American Professor regarding the best days of toiling humanity finds a striking contradiction in the person of Mr Matthew Fowlds, of Graystoneknowe, near Fenwick. No sooner did this Ayrshire worthy in May last finish a round of festivities in connection with the celebration of the hundredth anniversary of his birthday than he returned to his handloom, and for weeks busied himself manufacturing a pair of blankets as a gift to the forthcoming military bazaar in Glasgow. That work completed, the hardy veteran now turns his hand to knitting a pair of sox, and is ready daily to discuss the news of the world with any caller who may be fortunate enough to find out his peaceful, happy home in the secluded, moorland a few miles from Kilmarnock. THE CAREER OF MR FOWLDS, although one of unique tranquility, has been remarkable, and he would be a hopeless pessimist indeed who did not feel the better of a "crack" with the grand old man of Fenwick. Last Thursday a "News" representative motored out to his picturesque cottage in company with Colonel Pearson (the popular commander of the 2nd Lanarkshire Royal Engineers - Volunteers)—on behalf of which battalion this week's great bazaar is being held. Mr Fowlds had previously intimated that he would be "at home" that day to the Colonel and several friends, who are likewise unsparing in their efforts for the success of the Volunteers' scheme. , Although the weather, conditions were by no means tempting, the journey over the moors proved a delightful change from the crowded city, and soon the party was being greeted by the centenarian himself—looking hale and hearty. A fine picture indeed he made, as he stood, hat in hand, at the door of his trim whitewashed cottage, and offered a cordial inviation to "stap in bye." few days previously the old man had been coaxed to indulge in a run on the motor, and as he eyed the quivering vehicle again he shook his head and with a reassuring smile remarked to the Colonel—"That horse o'your's will no' rin awa\" Without any apparent effort the centenarian led the party into the "ben end" of the house, and made kindly inquiry regarding the health of each visitor. THE KITCHEN IS A PRETTY MODEL

of an old-time cottar house with its wooden "rafters" and white fireclay hearth, at which a well-polished swing was suspended. The "butend" .was, of course, the ,loom-shop. As he took his seat in the arm-chair, Mr Fowlds looked at least two decades younger than his accredited age. His figure is but slightly bent, and Nature has dealt lightly with his features, which are still remarkably fresh. His mental faculties are keen and alert, while the avidity with which he entered into conversation was really amazing. He was keen to learn the prospects of the bazaar, and plied the Colonel with many questions regarding'the functions to be held. "Aye, they're dune," he said, when the subject of the blankets was introduced; and next minute the work was laid out for inspection. A happy smile crossed the old man's face as he heard the approval of the onlookers. '' Oh, ay, they're no bad," he apologetically added; "but I got the best yairn ever I saw, and I never brak a thread." But the old man was by no means anxious to talk about himself, and soon turned the conversation about the doings of the Socialists. He denied the soft impeachment that he was "surely a Radical," and proceeded to explain that he "was jist a Progressive, but dinna like a' thegither the wey things were shaping with some of yon Socialist chaps." By way of returning to the centenarian, one of the visitors spoke of home, and was informed that the house was built by Mr Fowlds' grandfather, in 1779. "How long have you been here, Mr Fowlds?" inquired another. The old man, with a wave of his hand, replied, "A' ma life maistly,'except when I was herding a while." He was the oldest of a family of sjx, and was born on the 22nd May, 1806; Singularly enough, he had also had a family of six, all • of whom, happily, are still alive, and filling good positions. His youngest son.. Mr George Fowlds, is a member of the New Zealand House of Representatives, and is at present Minister of Education and Public Health of that body. Along with the other members of the family, he returned from New Zealand in May last, and took part in THE CENTENARIAN CELEBRATIONS

of his father, when the old man was presented with a painting (this picture is at present in the Exhibition at Christchurch, and it is anticipateu that it will be presented to the Art Gallery in Auckland—Ed. W. A.) by Mjr Munro S. Orr, which shows Mr Fowlds at work at his handloom, after he had entered upon his hundredth year. After being shown the many tokens that had been presented to him on that occasion, Mr Fowlds invited the visitors to inspect his looms. The party said they would not disturb him. "I'm coming but tae," he replied; and "but" the -company adjourned. There was a sight for reflection. Hanged round the apartment were three looms, while from the two small windows on either side could be got an extensive view of pretty countryside and wood. After a kindly word to a cat who was jealously guarding three kittens, the old man turned to one of the looms. "That's whaur I did them," he explained. Asked as to the age of the loom, the veteran weaver stated, "They're aulder than me; for I ken they were here before [ me." The wood, he explained, was a "kind of

Scots fir and lasts longer than | I ithers." He related in some detail the work, and said he had just completed six pairs of the blankets. The last were for the bazaar. "And are you starting another pair?" was i a query by a visitor. "Nay," in--1 stantly came the reply; "ye see I'm aulder noo, and I wudna like tae leave onything stickin' in the loom no feenished." But that he was not yet giving in to idleness he quickly showed, for retracing steps "ben thehoose," the party were shown a sock which the old man is completing by knitting needles. Back in the kitchen, the centenarian again became reminiscent, and spoke freely of his school days. He was % years at that school, he said, and "read Latin up to Ovid." The I teacher, he said, stated to his (Mr Fowlds) father that he had made him as good a reader of English as he could, and now desired him to take up Latin. Questioned as to WHAT HE THOUGHT OF LATIN the old man replied, "Well, it brings ye to think; in the second place, a guid heap o' our language is derived from Latin, and it gives ye a better understanding o' yer ain language. I also read Caesar." Although he has now to call in the aid of spectacles, Mr Fowlds is still a keen reader, and spends part of the day over the newspapers. He was nine years old when Waterloo was fought, and was engaged herding when the. great news arrived. Mr Fowlds has also lively recollections .of the Carlisle coach. "Things are a' changed" (he somewhat mournfully added), "and I'm the hinmost yin o' the weavers here aboot." Returning to the topic of Volunteers, Mr Fowlds related an exciting experience of over sixty years ago. He was included in the ballot for the Militia, but although half-a-dozen men were "drawn" from the village of Fenwick, he had the good fortune to escape being pressed into the service. "Yes; things have changed," ihe remarked again as the subject of bazaars was next discussed. "I was only wance at a bazaar," he said, "and I bocht a pair of spec, cases wi' Burns' cottage on't." An illuminated address, presented to Mr Fowlds on the celebration of his jubilee as an elder in the Orr Memorial U.F. Church—of which congregation he has been a member for over 81 years —was next spoken of. That led the old man to comment upon the fact that he has been twice at church since he attained the century. Now, however, he feels he should stay at home, where he is well tended by a relative whose tender solicitude for the worthy old man is second only to that which was evinced by his wife, who predeceased him some years ago. One of the visitors ventured the re.mark that Mr Fowlds was "REMARKABLY LIKE LORD KELVIN." This was too much for the centenarian's modesty and he hurriedly suggested that the "gentlemen should tak' a cup o' tea." He then wheeled round his armchair to the table, and forthwith proceeded to adhibit his autograph to several photographs of himself, and to write a brief letter —all of which will be displayed with the blankets at the bazaar. A short time later the old man submitted the lot for inspection, with the remark, "Ye ken I dinna write sae weel as I wis wont." Nevertheless the penmanship was remarkably good, and complimented accordingly. With the exchange of a few words of friendly adieux the couthie gathering dispersed, and the treasures—so honourably accomplished by a worthy centenarian who neither seeks the solace of the pipe nor the nourishment of the "glass"—were safely stowed on board the motor-car, and the journey to Glasgow began. Mr Fowlds, it may be added, has (according to a medical gentleman who was included in the party) "a pulse as steady as a clock."