Advance Australasia: A Day-to-Day Record of a Recent Visit to Australasia. / Second Edition.

by Frank Thomas Bullen

I confess, however, that I was not prepared for the question put to me in the train to-day by a middle-aged gentleman who was the editor of a newspaper devoted to the farming interest. In all seriousness he asked me whether we had any dining-cars on the railways at home! I was compelled to ask him whether he was joking, but it appeared that he was quite sincere in his ignorance, and it then appeared in further conversation that he had a fixed idea that all our catering arrangements in England on the railways had been taught us by the Colonies. Now it is quite true that there was a good dining-car on this train, wherein was served a comfortable, well-cooked meal, but in all its appointments it was very far behind what we get upon any of the long-distance lines at home. And when I endeavoured to explain the difference between the train in which we were then travelling and a Great Northern or Midland express, he said, "Oh yes, but then you have the advantage of the broad gauge!" It was impossible to pursue the conversation at any length, because I could see that he did not believe a word I was saying, so I relapsed into a book.

Now no one would dream of comparing the railways in a settled old country like Great Britain, where safety, permanence, and comfort of travelling are the main considerations and high speed is a necessity, with the first tentative efforts at railway communication in a new country where people are quite satisfied with an average speed of about fifteen miles an hour, and where, the line being single, it is necessary to wait at certain stations until the train bound in the opposite direction has passed. I am very glad indeed to say that the railways in New Zealand are well managed, the stations generally quite adequate and easy of access, and the refreshment business, on the prohibition principle, well attended to. But when I am calmly asked whether we know anything about railway management at home, I find it difficult to keep from making sarcastic remarks, as I do when I am told that agriculture in Britain is still generally conducted on the lines of reaping-hook or sickle and flail.

Ah well, I suppose this curious state of mind will continually be found among those who have been bred or born in a new country, and I do not know that it does much harm. They are so inordinately proud of the progress they see that they cannot imagine anything being more up-to-date or go-ahead.

The distance from Wellington to Palmerston North is about forty miles, and leaving there—Wellington—at 8 a.m. we arrive at 11.40, this being an express train, the next train leaving at 10.10 arrives at 4 p.m. The journey was not in any way remarkable, except for the occasional glimpses of great stretches of down land, literally covered with fallen, bleached trees, in many places so thick that they covered the whole ground. This is where the fire has been run through them, and is the preliminary process of making grazing land. But I could not help thinking that it was a sinful waste of timber, either for firewood or paper-making, and no attempt was being made to clear the land or to expedite in any way the process of its conversion into pasture. I ventured to ask several times whether nothing could be done with all that wood. I always received the same answer, "that it did not pay to cart it away for firewood, and as for dealing with it in any other way, well, labour was too dear." So it remained an eyesore and an hindrance. Occasionally, where the fallen trees were fewer in number, cattle were to be seen grazing between the trunks and apparently doing very well indeed. Where the land was quite clear, as on our Wiltshire and Sussex downs, there were plenty of sheep, all looking in splendid condition, so that the pasture must be of a very high quality. Here and there the sheep were feeding in fields of turnips, being specially fattened I suppose, but these were few and far between.

One curious feature of the land to me was its extremes. It was either very flat or very hilly; no gently undulating country such as we have so much of at home; but all of it worth money, and big money at that, mostly for grazing purposes. Every little town that we passed through wore a delightful air of quiet comfort, while both men and women looked fairly well-to-do, although they let their children run about barefooted in a way that is disconcerting to an Englishman. That, however, is probably only a fad, since the kiddies looked anything but poor in other respects.

Palmerston North came really as a surprise. Owing to the fact that it lies upon a perfectly level plain it is not nor can it be picturesque; indeed it might, only the word sounds unkind, be called straggling. It certainly does cover a very large area for its population, and those responsible for its laying-out have been most generous in the matter of streets. Also wherever there are any public buildings they are as usual in the North Island of the prevailing construction, stucco-covered brick. I have often wondered what could have become of all the plasterers when stucco went out in England. I know now: they came to New Zealand, and here they revel in their favourite medium, imitating stone to their hearts' content.

There is a spaciousness about Palmerston that is delightful. It fills one with the idea that it must some day be a great city, although the railway running along through the main street for its whole length bordered by grassy breadths upon which may be seen feeding the casual horse or cow, does not inspire much hope that it ever will be. Nevertheless, there is a great hotel a-building which would not be unworthy of a town ten times the size, and so I feel that there must be some basis for all this confidence. Here let me say with all the emphasis at my command, that my first impressions of hotel life in Australasia given you in my second chapter have been deepened and confirmed by every fresh one that I have stayed in, until I am fully prepared to swear that of all the countries I have ever travelled in Australasia is easily first in the matter of hotels. The food is always excellent, well-cooked, and abundant; the accommodation is invariably comfortable, the attendance all that could be wished, and the prices on an average about one-half of what they are anywhere else. Sorrowfully do I confess that I have never stayed in any British hotel that was nearly as good, as far as personal comfort is concerned, as the worst hotel I have sampled out here. These hotels are less pretentious in appearance, but they have no irritating extras, baths are not considered a luxury for which you must pay a high price, but are free at any time; a cup of tea at early morn in bed, and a newspaper is brought you and not charged for, afternoon tea is also free, and—whisper it gently!—if you are meanly inclined, you need not tip anybody. I would rather stay in the smallest way back hotel in Australia or New Zealand that I have visited than the most swagger hotel in London, while as for America—but there, to stay in any American hotel is to suffer penance for sin unrepented of—and the punishment is fully adequate.

Palmerston also boasts the finest opera house (so they say) in the Southern Hemisphere. I am inclined to take this sweeping statement with a considerable grain of salt when I remember Buenos Ayres, for instance, but there is no doubt that this opera house, built by the municipality, is a splendid building, worthy of Melbourne or Sydney as far as its appointments, size, and appearance is concerned. Of course it is decorated with stucco on an exceedingly ambitious scale, and therein, to the visitor accustomed to the stone erections of other cities more favourably situated for durable building material, is to some extent discounted. Moreover, it is a debatable point whether any municipality has a right to burden its citizens with such a heavy debt as this has entailed for such a purpose; but as this is a purely domestic question it may safely be left.

Its public buildings are dignified and stately, the Post Office especially being ten times finer and a much larger building than the Post Office in Auckland, which has nearly ten times the population of Palmerston. Yes, it is a bright, breezy, ambitious place, whose citizens manifest the most robust faith in its future, although, of course, there are many pessimists among them who talk dolefully about outrunning the constable, &c. It is the centre of a large dairying district, and from hence comes a great quantity of the splendid butter and cheese which is largely consumed at home. It is indeed an ideal country for such a purpose, owing to the richness of its pastures and the mild, equable climate which it enjoys. And I have been told that if only the farmers would manifest a little more energy the yield might be largely augmented with but slight increase of outlay.

I went on from here to Wanganui, on the beautiful river of the same name, through a most beautifully diversified country, the level plain gradually narrowing as we went north, although there were occasional stretches of rich-looking valley land. A change has to be made at Aramoho Junction for Wanganui, the train from Palmerston going on direct to New Plymouth, Taranaki, where it connects with the steamer for Auckland. Wanganui is only two miles from the junction, and when reached comes as a great surprise. It is still more difficult here than elsewhere in New Zealand to believe that so beautiful and imposing a town, with such fine public and private buildings, can be run by a population of under 10,000 all told. The hotel in which I stayed was, in every detail of its appointments—in everything, in fact, that a hotel should be—worthy of any town or city in the world, while its charges were simply ridiculous.