A Mother's Lament

John William Harris and Tukura, my great-great-great grandparents, had two children Edward Francis and Henry. Just before Edward turned 5 years old in 1839 , John William decided their sons would be better educated in Sydney, Australia. He  had looked at schools on previous trading trips to Sydney wanting to provide a good start to their lives, to learn to read and write and speak English. Tukura was devastated, she didn't agree with her husband known as Hone amongst the Maori people. Who was going to teach Edward (Eruete) social etiquette, how to behave? How will he learn the hakas without his grandparents present? Or how to handle weapons? Who will teach him our ancient legends, our tribal history, our gods and his genealogy? He will have no mana, no sense of tradition, no sense of culture, of what is tapu and sacred - she mourned the loss of her first-born deeply.

I recently received a copy Tukura's lament and today I was able to get this precious document translated.

Tukura's Lament
Downwards sinks my heart into darkness.
I would do anything to stop the departure of my beloved child.
By fomenting rebellious weather inland,
I would blow that ship back out to sea.
Standing at the doorway here,
My teardrops fall through love for you.
Before long, and with favourable weather,
The west wind will carry you away.
With our weeping and wailing indeed the day hath bound us.
As for you, Hone, our marriage is finished.
Wail, my beloved child.
For me, this departure on these flowing tidal waters
Is a most wicked deed;
Cruel, unjust waters, the place where
My lovely boy would swim every day,
That belonged to him.
Eruete, are you really ready to depart? Let us make ourselves scarce,
Let us abandon them until the time for your departure,
Let us console each other with beautiful kisses,
And then, with our vengeance achieved,
They will see you suddenly emerge like a shooting star.
The love I have for my little one
Surges up within me when he is not well.
My treasure, when you feel like wailing over there,
Try to take your mind off it by
Listening to what those hateful teachers are saying.
Now then Eruete, don't you go away from us,
Like the sweet songed kokako who flies inland by day and disappears.
Oh woe is me, I'm finished.
Come back here to me, to your ancestral roots.
Neither the mischievous family god,
Nor the god of peace and agriculture,
Nor I have any power here over the wind's direction.
Oh woe is me, I am finished.
We say our life together here was beautiful,
Yet today the cruel, empty ocean is going to cut you off,
And separate you, and make you an orphan.
The faces of the mourners here challenge the face of the sun -
Delay, please, o sun, delay your fiery fall downwards, down into the sea.
Some day, I know you will return!
And when you do, we shall run away together
To a place where peace and serenity reign.
Now then, when we do, do not quarrel or harbour resentment
Against me for letting you go now, for I am powerless.
As soon as you are gone away, please, devise a plan to return.
Please, oh please, may my little prince escape to come back home!

News spread quickly among the Maori in the village that Edward was about to leave. They left their gardens, their fishing net repairs and came to bid him farewell, nobody wanted the young boy to leave. John had not realised how much he had hurt Tukura by his decision, he hadn't realised the impact it would have on the native community, only an unfeeling pakeha could behave in such a manner, John went down considerably in their estimation. Edward was bitter but once he reached Sydney, he cheered up with the constant attention of his father.

Today I am grateful that John William Harris was an educated man who kept a record of his life, I'm grateful that Edward Francis saved these diaries and wrote the whakapapa (Genealogy) for his mother's ancestery which has now been preserved. Edward never saw his mother again as by the time John returned from Sydney Tukura had taken ill with influenza and had passed away.

The image is a copy of Tukura's lament showing the back of my greenstone. It sparkles in the light and the mingling of colours reminds me of our native beech forests.

Research was from Tairawhiti Museum, Gisborne, NZ