Sinton, Norma Vivienne Interview

Hello, this is Jenny Vierkotten, and I’m interviewing Norma Sinton. I will pass the microphone over to her.

Norma Sinton: I’m very happy to be able to record some of my family history and story. I’m really quite excited about it and very lucky to be able to do so.

Now, my parents were Mavis Landell-Davey who lived in Dunedin [and] who became a teacher, and my father, Herbert Roy Gasson, from Makotuku which is just outside of Norsewood, who was a teacher also. Now, after my mother graduated she moved to Makotuku to teach and that is where she met my father. After my parents married they moved to my father’s first appointment as a sole teacher in charge, to Waikatea School which is forty ks [kilometres] out of Wairoa, and they arrived there on a motorbike; this was in 1930. Their first stop on their trip up was at Wairoa and they stayed at the hotel in the main street, and next morning my mother woke up, pulled the curtains back and there in the river was a small boat; they had a boiler and they were cooking crayfish, and there was a whole line of people waiting to buy these crayfish. This was something that my mother never forgot.

So they arrived at Waikatea; the school had over thirty children and they had a small house to live in, but they were very happy there. The community was great, they were welcomed, and in 1930 I was born in Wairoa.

When I was six months old the [19]31 earthquake happened, and my mother had never experienced an earthquake before, and she was … she was terrified! So although they just had this little cottage, they had to live in a tent for three months and just cook their meals on an open fire; she was terrified. But anyway, they got over that and fourteen months later my sister, Molly, was born.

When she was two years old they moved to Kiritaki which was outside of Dannevirke. And that was a two-teacher school, but my mother didn’t teach then because not long afterwards my brother, Bob, was born. That was a happy time because it wasn’t so far away from my grandmother and grandfather, so we would visit them often. I can still remember when I was four, opposite the school was a paddock [in] which they sowed turnips or something; and every so often these big horses would come to plough up the land and the farmer would give us a ride on these lovely big horses. It’s something I can remember. No, that was a very happy time.

In 1935 my parents applied to join the Native School Service. This was established in 1880 to encourage Māori children to attend school and to learn English, the three RRRs, [reading, ‘riting, ‘rithmetic] learn about health and things like that. This period of my life was one of the happiest, although the people were just coming out of the Depression, and [of] course later, the war came. We didn’t have electricity; there was always a house provided with the school and they made it a rule that only a husband and wife who were both qualified teachers would be appointed. And that is when my mother started teaching again; I was five, my sister was four and my brother was two and half and there was no electricity, so I’m amazed at what my mother was able to do – teach, look after us [chuckle] and cook meals. And they just had this little wood stove to use in the kitchen, and only two tanks; if we ran out of water … well, we had to go and have a swim in the creek usually, but that didn’t happen very often.

Now James Pope was appointed as the first Inspector for Native Schools and he drafted a code for the establishment of these schools – the conduct and the selection of teachers and the school curriculum. Most of his thinking concerned Native education, focused on providing skills that would assist survival of the villagers threatened with disease. His faith at the assimilation process would be hastened if the teachers served as examples of a new or more desirable code of life.

The Department provided all the pens and paper, everything that the children needed including health supplies, which my mother used often. [Background traffic noise] And in return the children had to sweep the rooms out every day, and once a term at the end of every term, everything was taken out and scrubbed – the school, the desks – ready for the next term. Also, this I can remember well, the Department would send large tins of malt and large tins of cod liver oil, and my mother would line everyone up, the Standards first then the Primers, and with one spoon everyone was given a tablespoon of malt; then, only if they wanted to – it wasn’t compulsory, [but] most of them did – they’d get a tablespoon of cod liver oil, but after that she always gave them a piece of bread. But that was just one thing [chuckle] we did. The boys were made to establish their own little vegetable gardens. Also, once a week the long drops … the containers had to be emptied; that was one of their jobs. There were all sorts of cleaning jobs to do which they accepted quite well.

And this is a picture of Tokatā School [East Cape] which was the first Native School that we went to. When the war came, in front of the school and right round we had large area [of] playground, and we had a very large horse paddock because many of the pupils had to ride horses to school. Well, when the war came the boys had to build slip trenches, and then my father … every so often he’d blow the whistle and the Standard pupils’d all come out and we’d take a Primer down into a slip trench. My mother also made everyone bring a sugar bag or flour sack; and they made a haversack, because the threat of a Japanese invasion was … it was a threat, and it was quite frightening, so everyone made a haversack in case they had to take to the hills; that was something we had to do. Some of my happiest memories are up the coast. It was a very poor community, but rich in happiness. They were so helpful, and often Mum would open the back door and there would be a fresh fish hanging up, or a crayfish in a kerosene tin, and we’d say, “Oh no – not fish again!” [Chuckles] But we were very lucky.

Also, our stores – my mother would ring Ruatoria, which is way down the line, once a fortnight, and a van would bring our stores up. Then … I forget; say ‘bout twice a week, a van or something would drop a loaf of bread in our letterbox; not wrapped or anything like that. One of the pupils would bring a billy of milk each day which was good – and it had a lid on, so that was all right. But then when the war came, and rationing … yes, that was quite … a wee bit difficult, but anyway, we managed; it’s amazing, without electricity. We just had candles and we had one kerosene lamp, so it wasn’t very good for reading, but we managed. And we had a little radio which we turned on at six o’clock at night to listen to the BBC news; and sometimes we could listen to Dad and Dave, or Lofty Blomfield wrestling, and that was quite a highlight.

Most Saturdays we would go into Te Araroa to the pictures, and this was a real event. [Chuckle] Oh, and a whole crowd from Hicks Bay would ride their horses flat out right over the hill, cross Tokatā to Te Araroa, tie them up and go to the pictures. And they would sit in front, and they loved eating bags of peanuts, not shelled; and anyway, so there’d be a lovely carpet of shells on the floor. Every week there’d be a serial and it was usually a cowboy one, and sometimes there’d be an Indian hiding and a cowboy would come galloping along, and someone would shout out, “He’s hiding behind the tree, look out!” [Chuckles] And then the lights would go on, and the chief chucker-out … big Māori chap … Bang! And you’d hear all the peanut shells cru-cru-cru-crunch; and grab them, take them outside for a while and later they could come in. We never knew what picture was on, but it was an outing.

Nurse Banks was one of the most marvellous women around; she later went down to Wairoa, too, and was working round there. She was large, and always laughing and smiling, and a few times – oh, she often came to the school to check the health of the pupils. Once or twice if a child had fallen off his horse or had an accident, she’d come and sew up the wound on our kitchen table – that happened now and again. But my mother was the main one, having all the supplies, and she would attend to anyone who needed it.

My father was involved with the football club, he was a referee there. He was also the Registrar of births and deaths, so we were really involved with the community. And if a baby or small child died the parents would not have enough money to buy a coffin. You could only get a coffin at Ruatoria, so my father would make one, my mother would line it with silk, and we would be sent out to pick flowers out of the garden to line the coffin. We went to every funeral, wedding or any event at all; we always were invited, especially when war came and the Māori battalion was started; and of course different groups going away. There’d be a big farewell, and … yeah, and we always went to events like that. No, it was a very happy time.

In Te Araroa we had a Major and Mrs Prouse who were Salvation Army officers, and every so often Major Prouse would get on his horse and he’d be away for six weeks, going round the flock, way round the coast there somewhere. So Mrs Prouse would come and live with us, and we loved it because she was a good cook. And that was lovely, and helped Mum too. Then during the war we had good friends, Heather and Tui Crawford; and Tui went to war and Heather was on her own, so she came and lived with us for about three years.

This was another Native School, still war-time. Rationing, ‘specially with petrol – petrol was always rationed, and every drop had to be watched. Another very happy time there. Also the place was overrun with rabbits, and Dad would sometimes say to [a] couple of the big boys, “Could I have a couple of rabbits tomorrow?” “Yes, sir”, and they’d come … lovely young rabbits, beautifully cleaned, ready to eat … and oh, rabbit was just absolutely lovely when it was cooked well. And they were very happy days indeed.

What else would happen? Oh yes, there was a lovely river nearby; we’d just go – the school and house were on flat ground – we went down a bit and there was this lovely river. And if we heard the pheasants suddenly squawking like mad, my father would say, “There’s going to be an earthquake.” And sure enough there would be. They knew. There was [were] a lot of pheasants then.

In the winter time it was very, very cold indeed, and the puddles would freeze over. Our water supply came from over the river and across the river on [in] a pipe, and often that would freeze and we wouldn’t have any water, so that was one little problem.

If friends or relatives ever came to stay they always came on the Express [train] which left either Wellington or Auckland during the day and arrived in Taumarunui about midnight, so we’d have to go in and pick them up. But in those days because there was bush everywhere, fog was a problem and often my mother would have a torch and walk in front of the car so we would know where to go. Yeah. But anyway, my sister and I went to high school there, and it was … yes, quite a happy time. We ran concerts to raise war funds and things like that.

And another thing that the Native School children did – they bought their pennies to school, and with those pennies they bought a little van which was sent to Egypt and [or] wherever the men were fighting, so they could buy sweets or things that were different. And that was paid for by the pennies which the children bought to school. Yeah, that’s something that I’d forgotten.

Right; after we’d been there a few years – I forget how many years – we moved back to the Wairoa district to Te Reinga, which was another Native School. I was a JA there for two years – JA was Junior Assistant. This was a happy time too; a good community. Because of all the farms there were lots of horses and they’d have lots of horse events, and then afterwards there was always a big dinner and perhaps dancing; and that’s where everyone learnt to dance, in the country hall and old-time music. And the elders were always ready to teach young ones to dance. That means really dancing … good old-fashioned waltzes and all those lovely dances which you don’t see today. So we were very lucky indeed.

While we were there I met my husband, Ivor – he was just back after four years at the war. He’d been to Egypt, Italy and then they were sent to Japan, and he came back on a hospital ship. And that’s where I met Ivor. He joined Swifts office for a little while – that was the freezing company; it’s now AFFCO. [Auckland Farmers Freezing Company] And then he joined Williams and Kettle and was in the office there for twenty-odd years. We got married in 1951, then we had our first son, Chris, and two years later we had Glen.

Now Wairoa then was absolutely marvellous because everyone had a job; there were just so many opportunities for young people then. There were no gangs, everyone felt safe, you didn’t have to lock your doors or anything like that. It was just a marvellous place, especially to bring up children. My husband belonged to Lions; we joined the Car and Caravan Club, Athletic Club, Forest and Bird, and I taught at one or two primary schools and then was asked to go to the College. My father was teaching at the College as well. He and I were asked to teach the lower ability groups; that was really … I loved that. So I was there for quite a while.

Yes, Wairoa was really great, lots of friends; every weekend we would be off somewhere, especially with Forest & Bird. I think we’ve been up every little goat track, every cave, up to the lake [Waikaremoana] often, Mahia, Portland Island, wherever – the caves at Mangaone – everywhere like that. And then friends of ours, the Highways, once a year they were asked to go to Bushy Park to look after the big, old homestead which was owned by Forest & Bird, and people could go and stay there. So about five or sometimes six other couples would go as well, but we always worked, like … we had different jobs to do. My husband always cleaned the windows; someone liked doing the gardens; someone would do a bit of housework. My job if visitors came was to make them a cup of tea and talk to them, to turn the gramophone on and see which old song they’d like to hear, and take them round that historic homestead. Then each night we’d cook a lovely dinner, and they had this beautiful long table. And … oh, that was such a happy time too.

My husband, after working in offices, decided he wanted to be on his own so we bought this dairy in McLean Street; and it was successful and quite enjoyable, but after nine years we knew it was time to give it up and to move on.

I’d also like to mention about the marvellous hospital we used to have in Wairoa. It had, at one time, a staff of a hundred; it was a training school for nurses, and we had some of the best surgeons around – no one was ever sent down to Napier. And now, sad to say, the hospital has gone with only a few beds left for emergencies. But we had the very best nurses and doctors anyone could wish for. We loved our time in Wairoa, and the many years we spent in Native Schools. Altogether my parents must’ve spent about thirty years, but I am disappointed that no one who had every contributed to the Native Schools’ successes was ever acknowledged in any way at all; I think they deserved at least a letter of appreciation, or some sign to show that the dedication to their work over the years was acknowledged in some way.

In 1981 Ivor and I decided to come down to the Bay. We’d had thirty years in Wairoa, very happy, but we decided it was time for a break and we found living in the Bay just wonderful. We joined different groups, and there were so many Wairoa people down here too, it was great. Chris joined the staff of the Napier Hospital, and Glen was away in Western Australia working for … anyway, it was a mining group. The forty years that we have lived here have been marvellous and we have had no regrets at all. Ivor belonged to the Lions Club and we belonged to the church, U3A [University of the Third Age] … different groups like that, so we were always busy. It’s been a wonderful life down here; sadly Ivor passed away four years ago. Originally there were seven sons in the family, and now they have all gone. They all served in the Air Force, Army, and the Navy for the younger ones later on, but they’ve all gone now.

I was able to join the floral art group and the water colour painting group here which was just great. I’ve always been interested in genealogy and family histories. My mother was always very proud of one of her ancestors who was Joseph Davey, who was born in the parish of Omar [Armagh] in the county of Omar [Armagh, Northern Ireland] in the year 1874. [1774] When he was eighteen years of age [1792] he enlisted in the Royal Sappers and Miners, which is today the Engineers, and served in the Army for twenty-eight years [1820] ; this was when he moved to England. He served in France and Spain, New Orleans, France and the Netherlands, Bermuda twice, and Halifax, which was in 1836. He fought at the siege of Badajoz and San Sebastián in Spain.

He married Isabella Hughes, and they had ten children. After he left the Army he was granted so many acres of land in Hobart [Tasmania] and that’s where they lived for quite a while and that is where my grandfather came from. The Davey family arrived in Van Diemen’s Land in May 1842, and after the usual formalities Joseph was to proceed to his appointed station which was at Darlington [on Maria Island]. They lived at Peppermint Bay but it’s now called Woodbridge. [Near Bruny Island] The Davey children no doubt thrived in the clean air of Tasmania. They developed skills, got some education, fell in love, married and had children.

I would now like to read a little bit about my father’s family. According to various stories handed down through the family over the years, the name Gasson is of French origin, our earlier forebears having been Huguenot refugees in England. Most of the Gassons of New Zealand appear to owe their origins to one or other of two brothers who emigrated from England with their families in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. Some said there were actually three brothers – that was true, but one returned to England. The two brothers, Henry and Charles, landed at Lyttelton, Banks Peninsula. Henry was said by some to have settled in Akaroa, a settlement founded by the French in 1840. Henry later moved to the North Island. When my husband and I were on holiday [at] Akaroa we went to Okains Bay and found the church, and found in the bible the records of all their children who had been christened there. So that was quite exciting for Henry’s family.

Charles put down his roots in Christchurch; and in Christchurch there’s a street named Gasson, and it’s after two of the boys who were shot during the war. And I’ve found a little bit about them too, but that’s why the street was named Gasson. According to one source, Henry and Charles’ father, James, was a wealthy London businessman who owned seven saw mills in England, some at least in London, and made his fortune by buying timber cheaply in the north and selling it at a handsome profit in London.

What better source of fireside yarns on a cold winter’s night than such tales of adventure, pioneering, paternal rejection and lost family fortunes. What is probably of more interest to most of us is the knowledge of who and what our ancestors were. My cousin, Jim Gasson, decided to write a book about the Gasson story. He called it ‘Journey from Edenbridge’. I was able, because I was very interested, to help with this book as I was a great-granddaughter of Henry Gasson, the mother [father] of Charles, and I was the first cousin of the writer, and it gave me much pleasure to pass on all the information that I had. Although this book is now complete the journey from Edenbridge is far from ended. It will not end as long as there is, somewhere upon this planet called Earth, a descendant of Thomas and Sarah Gasson.

My life especially in Hawke’s Bay has just been wonderful; we have a large circle of friends, and I’m just so happy to have been able to record this story today. Thank you.