ELECTION Day

New Zealand Listener, Volume 21, Issue 544, 25 November 1949, Page 18

ELECTION Day

Written for "The Listener’ by

JOHN

WERN

LECTION day ' is a bad day for hitch hiking. We got a ride out of Napier easily enough. A Power Board man in a little ten-horse van picked us up. We had to squeeze in. You chaps going home? Not likely, we told him. We hope to get to Taupo tonight. We'll vote somewhere along the road. Funny. election, he said. Don’t know who'll win. Been this way before?::., : So we told him who we were and where we came from, and he told us about the earthquake and how the land we were passing had come

up. Cars went by with ribbons fluttering from radiator caps, lamps, and door handles: He pulled up Beside a power pole along Westshore. That’s all right, glad to give you a lift. Don’t forget to vote, he said. Remember, every vote you don’t make is two for the other side, We stretched ourselves. The sun was beginning to burn back off the bitumen, and we would have liked to have gone over the sandhills for a swim. We always tried to travel too far. A few cars passed and trucks with workers on going in to vote. One drew up beside us and a Maori gave us a hand each and pulled us up onto the tray. We sat with our backs to the rocking side board. The wind whipped round us, tangled our Rair, and made us blink. We told them who we were. you won’t get there tonight, said a big man in a» black shirt, who was sitting on a pile of sacks behind the cab. You voted yet? No. : Why don’t you come with us? Oh, we'll do it later-when we gét on a bit. Well, who you voting for? There were about eight of/ them. We told him. E There you are, stupid, he said, giving a kick to a box where a chap sat in the middle of us. They're bright boys and you don’t know what side of your bread’s butter. That’s all right, he shouted back. We'll see who’s right. He gave me a wink. The truck turned off and stopped. We went round to the cab and gave our thanks. You keep straight on, he directed. Good luck. The gang in the back let out a few yells, and one of ‘them threw a spud in the air. It was nice- walking. There was no great open view--we expected to see that later in the day-but it looked like -@ place where people worked and

took care of the soil. There were rows of peas, green, and the crumbled, brown earth-it would give softly under the boot-the, poplars, and the still grass at the roadside. The ugly barbed wire. We took off our coats and, squatting in the warm grass, slung them under the flaps of our haversacks. Come on, called Ken, he’s stopping. And we ran after a Morris that he had hailed, and which was now pulling up slowly as though its brakes were not gripping. The door swung open. Where are you chaps going? I’m not going into Eskdale, he said brusquely. Taupo, we hope. Taupo! All right, hop in. But I can only take you a. little of the way. Ken crawled in past the front seat and packed himself in among the suitcases at the back. E started badly. It wasn’t easy on the car. He’d just got through the gears when he said, with half a laugh, Have you fellows got any guns in that gear? I felt certain,this wasn’t altogether a joke, but I treated it as one. Guns! Good heavens, no. Next time, perhaps. We're just on holiday. Huh ’mm, good oh. You've got a long way to go. Think you'll get there tonight? He told us he was going up to stay on his brother’s farm for a few days. He’d arranged to have the rest of the week ‘off and make a long week-end out of it. He needed it, he said. He hadn’t had a holiday last year and wasn’t likely to get more than a few days off this Christmas. You chaps looking for work? Not yet, we said. We're going to have a holiday first, and then we'll take a job: Soe There’s plenty of it to do, he said. * The little car bounced along the road. I read the wafrant of fitness. I was hoping Ken would make some talk. I didn’t think he and I would agree about the elections, Then he said, glancing at me, I think I know where you chaps come from. (continuéd on next page)

(continued from previous page) Oh, where? Never mind, he said: As long as you behave yourselves, I don’t mind. I heard Ken give a wriggle in the back, and he glanced in his’rear mirror. I think you’ve got us wrong. Who do you think we are? I ran my fingers through my hair. I must have been looking rough. It’s all right, he said. I don’t mind. He thought I was protesting. ; Well, just as you like. But you're quite wrong, you know. It’s no business of mine, he said. You can do what you like. .No, you’re wrong. Who do you think Wwe are? It’s O.K., I know, No you don’t, I said. Come on, who Bre we? Never mind. * No, come on, tell me. It doesn’t matter, he said. Well, you're off a boat, aren’t you? Is that it-and I went on to explain, It cleared the air and I found we were both voting for the same party after gic He dropped us at a bridge. I go over here. That’s the road to Taupo. You'll get a lift all right, there are lots of transports going through. Sure enough the A.A. sign showed Taupo, so we walked down the road and found a little shade to sit under. Now it was hot and we hadn’t got far. For a long time. nothing came our way at all. The few cars we heard coming ail turned off over the bridge, suddenly cutting off their dust cloud and leaving it for us to watch as it slowly floated into the river. When the dust storm did bear down in the wake of a small truck, it swirled on over us, the driver signalling he was only going down the road. There were two youths and a dog standing in the back. We were out of luck. Surely somebody had to go to Taupo on election day. We waited. Then we decided that, if nobody wanted to take us to Taupo, we would go with them to Wairoa. About 20 shéep scrambled and jostled their way up, followed by the two youths and the truck. The dog’s tongue was hanging but it sped about the flock and yapped-patient and busi-ness-like. The boys went past with a nod and a yell at the dog, and the truck pulled up beside us. ; Hallo. This is the road to Taupo, isn’t it? Well, yes, but it’s not the main road. It joins up with the main road a few miles on. We rode back to the bridge hanging on to the running boards. It was worse there, no shade, and dust from the big, fast cars to smother us. A man ought to hang himself from the A.A. sign, said Ken. And then we were riding in a coupe with' a young farmer who could only take us a few miles. Travelling, cool, on the inside looking out, the radio ebbing and flowing. Insects smacked against the windscreen and sometimes they swung in through the open windows. ITY you’re not shearers. We're going. "to have trouble this bel I think. Some of the Maori boys from the war found that they could drain their

swamp land. They grew good tomatoes on it last year, and now they’re all. having a go at it. ) We climbed out at the top of a steep hill, Seems a rotten place to leave anybody but I’m afraid it’s the best I can do. The view was fine. High country in grass, hot and dry, a few slips and some patches of burn. Hot and a _ hard, distant, blue sky. We sunbathed a bit and sang a bit and hoped the world was having a good dinner. We'd almost forgotten about cars when one suddenly went the other way — a midget alien, even to newcomers like us. Walking down the long winding hill, we were glad of the patches of shade from the bank. A drover rode up slowly with tired dogs at heel. He was yelling and whistling to one that had gone down into the gully. He left off to say Hot day, in reply to our G’day, and then went on calling the dog. We heard him still as he came out onto each bend above. Half-way down we found a spring weeping out of the bank, and Ken wag getting his face wet drinking at it when a black car rushed down the hill. It was going fast, but it pulled up. All right, get in and let’s have a look at you. We got into the back seat. Who are you? It was a policeman with his wife and daughter. A lot of sailors must desert at Napier, but we soon satisfied him. He was supervising the country booths. He told us about a bottomless lake and floating islands and the Tutira country, and handed us over to a truck driver at his next call, — * DON’T think you'll get through. Nothing doing today. Everybody’s closed down for the day. I’m taking this lot to the next store, and then I’m finished. Got to vote yet. A bee browsed against the window screen and he made a snatch at it whenever it came down from the web-draped corner. In the end it ducked out a side window. It was hot in the dusty cab, hot from the sun and the oily heat of the heavy engine. Growling up the hills, shuddering a bit at the bends. He left the storekeeper to unload his stuff, and we went with him down to the one-room school to vote. The desks had been pushed back for the day. Ours were the first absentee yotes they had had, but it was quite simple. The school teacher dnd his wife fixed us up and we voted sitting on a desk in the corner under an animal alphabet. He said it had been a headache and they’d done some things they shouldn’t have. They were certainly haying the worst of the day. Back country families had yet to vote. * The local’ pub was closed and thech. ha a few people sitting round outside : well then, why don’t you try the door? advised‘one, squinting sagely into the sun. We went in and closed it behind us. Ken ordered. You fellows voted yet. All tight. And he served us. It’s my rule nobody’s got the Bay drink, if they don’t exercise their right (continued on next page)

ELECTION DAY

(continued from previous page) to vote. There’s no harm in it afterwards. Anyway, it helps make ’em go to the poll. And that’s the Law, isn’t it? We joined the crowd in the sun and, when a service car pulled in, we decided it was the only chance if we were to get through by night. FTER we had a meal in a Grills-at-all-hours, I rang a cousin to see if he could pick us up. He was running a poll, too. He would be in later, much later; it was a two-hour drive and he had to sort out his votes. We strolled

down the one-sided main. street. The two party rooms were open. We walked into a large old shop resurrected for the occasion. A_ single election poster hung awry in the empty windows. Inside it w bright-naked bulbs. Tables ran around the room. The radiowas playing music in the background. We were greeted and someone shifted up and made room for us. There was more ex-

citement in the old shop than it could ever have known on a sale day. Everybody was in good spirits; but the talk and banter stopped when the radio cut in. Here is a progress report from Dunedin Central . They hunted down their lists. The returns from 15 polling places Pe ee A tap on my shoulder. Excuse me, can you lend me a pencil? Down went the figures. Music came from the radio again, women went back to knitting, and there were comments and the checking of totals. More people came in. Families gathered. Youngsters, a couple of prams, a sleepy collie wandered from group to group being patted and rubbed. Everyone was a friend and you didn’t have Io : know a man before greeting him and being greeted in return. Somebody» ‘started singing, and everybody joined in for a few lines, but the chorus faded because no one knew any more words. So Tipperary. And Daisy, with Good Morning Everybody at the end. Then each side of the room hit on a different song. Neither stopped, but each sang more loudly trying to drown the other. Laughter. Then, all together, they started When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, but the radio was turned up. Here are the returns from ten polling places...... It was the home electorate, Cheers. More returns now. Returns from all over the country. Three thousand how many? And Seventy-five, seventy-five. ‘Confusing. What’s its name. Top of the next page. . Independent, two hundred and ) thirteen, 2-1-3. | ""[’WO young mothers with babes in arm came to find how things were going. Plenty of informers. We gave them our seats and went outside for a breath. We walked down by the river, over the

bridge and back. A _ beautiful night, lights in the water, the road quiet and clean in the lamplight. When we got back a cup of tea was on but there were not enough cups to go round. Neighbours offered us theirs and we washed them and poured for ourselves from the big enamel teapots. Someone found some biscuits. And someone knocked a cup over. A result sheet floated in the steaming tea. It was being mopped up when a maa walked into the middle of the room and called out, Ladies and Gentlemen, we are going to draw the raffle for the Christmas cake. Butts were thrown hurriedly into a hat and a young girl pulled out the winner. The winning ticket is number 792. Just a minute and we'll tell you whose

it was. Lhey flipped through the books. Everybody’s in again. It’s an unsold ticket. The girl said she was sorry, and determinedly took another butt. Number 528. We'll see if that was sold. But there was no need. She was in the room waving her ticket. Congratulations and suggestions were shouted at her. And now, began the M.C, with a shout

to get attention again. And now, on behalf of the committee and myself, I would like to take this opportunity to thank all those who have helped us in any way in the-campaign. It’s been a lot. of work but let’s hope we’ve won. Especially the women’s committee. Approved with a burst of clapping. Still a few newcomers dropped in. Perhaps they had been to the pictures. The radio came on again with an election summary. Here are some final results .... absentee and postal votes have still to be counted. (That was us.) But they cannot affect these contests. The party leader had won his seat. They sang For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow, even a few who had been criticising him earlier on joined in. the singing. It was getting late. Everybody was a little weary. Less joking and laughter. The children and the prams had gone long ago and the dog was sleeping under a bench. Only a few kept on copying all the progress reports, but among the diehards some arguments had started on the finer points of policy. We were glad when my cousin and his wife arrived. We made them a cup of tea, while they found out who had been elected when they were driving in. We stayed for the final summary. And as we climbed into our last car for the day, Auld Lang Syne ‘sallied down the darkened street. Ld