country this is?—Yes, Kanea?’
‘E p, Mattie been there, she seen that!’
‘Have you, Mattie? Will you come forward please, and tell the school about it?’
Every face turned towards Mattie. Every tongue wagged with the wonder of it, that here in this very room was a girl who’d been in India and seen the elephants. And she, suddenly famous, would gladly have welcomed even a smelly geyser to hide her from view, but there was no escaping. She had to rise and go to the front through the excited mass of children. Then, just as she reached the open space around the teacher’s desk, she caught a fresh signal from Lillian’s dancing eyes. Think of me , those eyes were saying, yesterday it was me who had to stand out there, and I had to say what wasn’t really true, but you can tell the truth about elephants.
‘We were staying in Poona,’ said Mattie, ‘and we went out to this place to watch them cutting down trees for a house, and the elephants were working just like that.’
‘How did that man get up on its back? Too high to climb,’ came the first question.
‘Jumped,’ some humorist interjected.
‘That’s the mahout who drives the elephant,’ said Mattie. ‘He orders the elephant to lift him up with his trunk.’
‘The big effelan does what that little man say?’ The thought of this was so hilariously funny that the whole school rocked with laughter.
‘They train the elephants when they’re young,’ said Mattie.
‘What say it tread on his foot? A baby one big as a horse, eh?’ said a voice from the back.
‘Kaitoa, if you the mahout ,’ said the humorist and the whole school rocked again.
‘Order, order! Only questions please,’ said Mr Haszard. But he didn’t try to restrain the laughter. The elephant was plainly the funniest animal in the world, even funnier when described in Maori. When the page was turned to a picture of white men out shooting tigers, the men in their pompous outfits became the targets of the jokes.
They hadn’t got past India when time ran out and the magazines were gathered up. ‘When we’ve studied all the pictures, the children take them home and explain them to their parents,’ Miss Haszard told Mattie. ‘Then we send them on to the next school.’
‘Don’t they get lost?’ said Mattie.
‘Never. We wouldn’t be allowed to have them if we didn’t pass on the full set, and every family knows it,’ said Clara.
Now Ina joined them for the singing lesson—if it could be called a lesson. There was no musical scale and no timing except for the beating of feet, as the children followed the teachers in the simplest of English songs: ‘One man went to mow’ and ‘My Bonnie lies over the ocean’. Baby stuff! Mattie could hardly bring herself to sing. But that was soon over and Kanea was called forward.
For a moment she stood there silent, a lumpy figure inan old brown jumper and cotton print skirt, her long, wavy hair hanging loose around her face. Then she spoke a few words in Maori, put her hands on her hips and counted, ‘Tahi, rua, toru, wha—’ and fifty young voices burst into real singing—their own! Kanea gave her whole body to it, hips turning, feet stamping, arms weaving, eyes glowing, face alive in every muscle. ‘How could I ever have imagined she was lumpy?’ Mattie thought to herself. ‘She’s beautiful!’ And if only the others weren’t so cramped at their desks! They all entered into the spirit of it, and Mattie felt her own feet tapping and her own arms flowing as the tune took shape in her head. It was a dreamy song and after it came a funny one, but Mattie had no idea what they were singing about.
School was dismissed and she ran after Kanea. ‘Do tell me what the words meant,’ she begged.
‘You walk along with me. I’ve got to hurry and feed the fowls for my kuia, my granny,’ said Kanea. ‘You coming, Lillian?’
Together they walked while Kanea explained the songs and their actions.
One was a love song, the
‘E p, Mattie been there, she seen that!’
‘Have you, Mattie? Will you come forward please, and tell the school about it?’
Every face turned towards Mattie. Every tongue wagged with the wonder of it, that here in this very room was a girl who’d been in India and seen the elephants. And she, suddenly famous, would gladly have welcomed even a smelly geyser to hide her from view, but there was no escaping. She had to rise and go to the front through the excited mass of children. Then, just as she reached the open space around the teacher’s desk, she caught a fresh signal from Lillian’s dancing eyes. Think of me , those eyes were saying, yesterday it was me who had to stand out there, and I had to say what wasn’t really true, but you can tell the truth about elephants.
‘We were staying in Poona,’ said Mattie, ‘and we went out to this place to watch them cutting down trees for a house, and the elephants were working just like that.’
‘How did that man get up on its back? Too high to climb,’ came the first question.
‘Jumped,’ some humorist interjected.
‘That’s the mahout who drives the elephant,’ said Mattie. ‘He orders the elephant to lift him up with his trunk.’
‘The big effelan does what that little man say?’ The thought of this was so hilariously funny that the whole school rocked with laughter.
‘They train the elephants when they’re young,’ said Mattie.
‘What say it tread on his foot? A baby one big as a horse, eh?’ said a voice from the back.
‘Kaitoa, if you the mahout ,’ said the humorist and the whole school rocked again.
‘Order, order! Only questions please,’ said Mr Haszard. But he didn’t try to restrain the laughter. The elephant was plainly the funniest animal in the world, even funnier when described in Maori. When the page was turned to a picture of white men out shooting tigers, the men in their pompous outfits became the targets of the jokes.
They hadn’t got past India when time ran out and the magazines were gathered up. ‘When we’ve studied all the pictures, the children take them home and explain them to their parents,’ Miss Haszard told Mattie. ‘Then we send them on to the next school.’
‘Don’t they get lost?’ said Mattie.
‘Never. We wouldn’t be allowed to have them if we didn’t pass on the full set, and every family knows it,’ said Clara.
Now Ina joined them for the singing lesson—if it could be called a lesson. There was no musical scale and no timing except for the beating of feet, as the children followed the teachers in the simplest of English songs: ‘One man went to mow’ and ‘My Bonnie lies over the ocean’. Baby stuff! Mattie could hardly bring herself to sing. But that was soon over and Kanea was called forward.
For a moment she stood there silent, a lumpy figure inan old brown jumper and cotton print skirt, her long, wavy hair hanging loose around her face. Then she spoke a few words in Maori, put her hands on her hips and counted, ‘Tahi, rua, toru, wha—’ and fifty young voices burst into real singing—their own! Kanea gave her whole body to it, hips turning, feet stamping, arms weaving, eyes glowing, face alive in every muscle. ‘How could I ever have imagined she was lumpy?’ Mattie thought to herself. ‘She’s beautiful!’ And if only the others weren’t so cramped at their desks! They all entered into the spirit of it, and Mattie felt her own feet tapping and her own arms flowing as the tune took shape in her head. It was a dreamy song and after it came a funny one, but Mattie had no idea what they were singing about.
School was dismissed and she ran after Kanea. ‘Do tell me what the words meant,’ she begged.
‘You walk along with me. I’ve got to hurry and feed the fowls for my kuia, my granny,’ said Kanea. ‘You coming, Lillian?’
Together they walked while Kanea explained the songs and their actions.
One was a love song, the
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