Stolen fruits taste sweetest

Waimarino Bulletin, Volume 4, Issue 45, 28 April 1987, Page 8

Stolen fruits taste sweetest

During the Ohakune Jubilee celebrations in February many old books, magazines and newspapers were dusted off and opened up for a nostalgic look at the region's past. A book that was visible at more than one gathering was 'A Mountain and a School', the journal pub-

lished to commemorate the golden jubilee of the Ohakune District High School in 1946. This journal is full of interesting tales, including the following story from years before about a mayor, a schoolmaster and the liquor licencing laws: HOP-HEADS - "Stolen fruits taste sweetest." That sums up the King Country liquor problem. When years ago a smart lawyer found a loophole in the agreement with King Tawhiao to keep drink from the area, Ohakune for a short period had its whole sale liquor trade. Joey Ward soon cancelled the licences and the district returned to surreptitious and quantitative drinking. Before the brief licensingera liquor could be imported only for a specific purpose and only on the order of some recognised body, such as an official social committee. Send-offs came under the heading and were so popular that even dogs were in danger of a public farewell. In our history of drinking as the all-time indoor and outdoor favourite sport we

feature a particular farewell in the old Town Hall, not because it is typical exactly, but because so many versions are current that it is our historical duty to present the facts correctly. A stuttering mayor, prior to the presentation of an illuminated address, was making a long-winded eulogy of the departing schoolmaster. Drink had been generously offered to all and graciously imbibed; but one particular individual — a noted sly-grogger — was in an aggrieved mood. Sendoffs spoilt his trade. At the height of the mayor's panegyric this man shouted; "B y rot!" The mayor argued back, the audience took sides, and confusion reigned supreme. Along the aisle came the big sly-grogger, fighting bent. The schoolmaster — an inoffensive soul — decided on discreet withdrawal; but in his hurry to the nearest exit had to pass the mayor, who imagining he was being attacked from the flank, snatched up the illuminated address a.nd presented it to the correct recipient but in a most unorthodox fashion.

In fact he banged him over the skull with it. There was the sound of tearing parchment, and the schoolmasterstood poised with the address around his neck, the frame on his shoulders. Thus draped he sped on his way to the crisp mountain air — and safety. Then things began to happen on the stage. A burly coachman let go a piledriver at the sly-grogger, but missed and smashed his hand against the wall. Then a man with a wooden leg joined in — very unwisely, because from his frequent squabbles with his wife he should have known that a mere push sent him on his back, in which position he was as helpless as a turtle, being left to rave and curse until some good samaritan should put him right side up. A similar fate soon befell him on the evening of the send-off. Someone gave him a push, he fell over a form, and had the brawling members of the audience glanced at the stage, the most interesting spectacle before their eyes would have been a wooden leg projecting high above an overturned stool. From "A Mountain and a School" 1946.