ACROSS THE TASMAN SEA TO WELLINGTON
I came from Australia to Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, on
a vessel as well furnished, as well kept, and as well managed as any
of the floating palaces that steam on our Great Lakes. But the voyage
was far from being as smooth as a sail on the Lakes. The South Pacific
Ocean is much like the North Atlantic. It is wild and stormy at times,
and I found it a great contrast to the calm waters of the tropics
through which I had passed on my way to Australia. The clear skies of
the Equator and their golden stars had disappeared, and in their place
were heavens plated with lead and heavy, low-hanging clouds full of
wind.
How the steamer rolled! There were ladder-like racks on the table to
hold the dishes at every meal, and we had to lift our soup plates
to our chins, balancing the steaming liquid to the movement of the
boat. One night a buxom young lady, who was strikingly décolleté, sat
opposite me at the table. The ship gave a sudden lurch and her soup
went down--outside. Another girl lost her coffee in my lap. In my cabin
it made me almost seasick to watch my pajamas swing violently to and
fro on their hooks. As I walked the deck I had to bend this way and
that to keep my balance, and when I sat down the steward tied my chair
to the rail outside the saloon wall to keep me from sliding down to
the edge of the boat. The spray dashed over everything, and, as a New
Zealand girl said, “It was really na-a-hsty!”
Still, the southern ocean is grand. Stand on deck beside me and take a
look at a storm off the coast of New Zealand. The green water of the
shallow sea rolls toward us in vast waves. It is a seething, boiling
mass. Our steamer mounts sea-green hills spotted with foam, and plunges
down into valleys blanketed with white. Great billows chase one another
like racehorses over the roads of the sea. They roar as they run with a
noise like the thunder of a thousand Niagaras.
Now two waves meet. The foam dashes up in a spray and turns to rainbows
in the sun, which now and then breaks through the clouds. The rainbows
are so close that we can almost wash our fingers in them. They come and
they go, a hundred different rainbows in as many minutes. They dance in
and dance out. They ride for a moment on the crests of the waters, only
to shine, disappear, and give place to others. How the ship struggles
and groans! Every now and then a mist closes down upon us, and our
foghorn blows continually. We are hours in making a few miles and are
tossed about all night by the storm.
I suppose there is not much chance that the Tasman Sea will change its
ways, but it has been proposed to change its name. After the World War
it was suggested that it be re-christened the “Anzac Sea” in honour
of the troops sent from this part of the world to fight with the
Allies. You remember that their organization was officially known as
the Australia-New Zealand Army Corps. The supplies sent to the first
contingent at Gallipoli were marked with the initial letters: A. N. Z.
A. C. and thus the “Anzacs” got their name. Anzac Day, April 25th, is
now observed as a national holiday in New Zealand in memory of those
who gave their lives at Gallipoli, and in Palestine, Egypt, and France.
The day is kept more like a Sunday than as an ordinary holiday, and
the use of the word “Anzac” for trade purposes is prohibited by law.
I am told that some people even disapprove of its being used as a
geographical term.
The morning was clear when we sailed into Wellington harbour and cast
anchor before the capital city of the island dominion. On going ashore
I found Wellington rather like an American than a British town. It has
more than one hundred thousand people and is growing like a green bay
tree. The city lies in a nest in the hills, with its business streets
round the harbour, some of them built upon land reclaimed from the sea.
The houses are mostly of wood, and one of the government buildings is
said to be the biggest wooden structure in the world. The wharves are
of wood, but they are big enough to accommodate the largest steamers,
and the water is so deep that ships come close to the shore and anchor
within a stone’s throw of the post-office.
Both Wellington and Auckland, the chief ports of New Zealand, have
fine harbours, although neither is as good as the one at Sydney. The
New Zealanders say that when they go to Sydney they pin a tag on their
coats, reading: “Yes, I am pleased with your harbour,” and thus avoid
answering the same question twenty times an hour. Wellington is as
windy as Chicago, and Australians say they can always tell a man from
Wellington because, no matter where he may be, every time he turns a
street corner he grabs his hat to keep it from blowing away.
The stores here are not unlike ours. Their windows are well dressed and
their goods attractively displayed. In the business section there are
roofs of corrugated iron built out over the sidewalks so that shoppers
are protected from the sun or rain in going from store to store. The
merchants carry large stocks, and seem to be prosperous. There are many
jewellery stores, book stores, and millinery shops. The butcher shops
are walled and floored with tiles, and the beef and mutton sold in them
are equal to any you can get in Chicago or London, and much cheaper.
The grocery stores are clean and up to date, while the displays on
the fruit stands make my mouth water. They have home-grown apples and
grapes, and tropical fruits of all kinds from the Tonga Islands and the
Fijis.
The city is lighted by electricity. It has a good water supply and a
municipally owned street-car system, one line of which runs through a
tunnel under a mountain and out to a popular bathing beach. Wellington
has gone far ahead of our cities in municipal ownership. Besides its
street-car system, it owns its water supply and drainage works, its
cemeteries, baths, and slaughter houses. Many of its homes are lighted
from a municipal central station, and it has a monopoly on the local
milk business. The city buys and distributes all the milk produced
within a radius of about twenty-five miles. Any surplus is made into
butter and cheese, and an ice plant is operated in connection with the
dairy business.
I have been told that the reason for the number of wooden buildings
here is the fact that years ago a severe earthquake did great damage
and made the people afraid to put up high structures of brick and
steel. But the Wellingtonians of to-day laugh at the idea of another
earthquake, and substantial buildings are going up all over the city.
A big new Parliament House is about completed, and the government is
carrying out a large construction programme for the better housing of
its various offices. One of the finest buildings in the Dominion is
the home of the mail and the telegraph services--a structure of native
stone covering half a block.