Mrs. Appleby used to recall  that just near where Smith and Caughey’s shop is situated in Queen Street she and other children fished with cotton line and bent pin. The whole of Queen Street was little more than a gully in those days. Mrs. Appleby went to a school not far from St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and as native children also attended she soon learned to talk the Maori language.

The most exciting incident in her life happened during the Maori War of the sixties. She had not long been married and was living near Drury. Inside the house, hanging on the wall in brackets, were ten rifles. They belonged to men working on the roads in the vicinity. One day when Mr. Appleby and the men had gone to work, a party of Maoris came to the cottage. In those days they were rather primitive. Each wore a blanket round the shoulders, another round the loins, and carried a ‘wicked-looking tomahawk, the head of which was kept as bright as a new shilling. It was a deadly weapon in the hands of an angry native.

They squatted down outside the door and asked for food. As Mrs. Appleby went about her duties she could see them eyeing the rifles hanging in their racks. At that time it was the wish of every native to become possessed of a rifle. There was a fine of £100 for anyone selling firearms to a Maori. By and by the natives began talking among themselves, and Mrs. Appleby was terrified —she understood every word they said. The savages were discussing the chances of knocking her on the head and making off with the firearms. “Patu te wahine!” (“kill the woman”) was the suggestion.

Although almost scared to death, Mrs. Appleby could not show it, and she resorted to subterfuge.  She started laying the table for the midday meal, putting down as many plates as she had in order to make the Maoris think there were a whole lot of men coming in. She told them her husband and the men would be back for dinner, but never let them suspect she understood their murder plot.

There were evidently some in the party who were not at first willing to “patu te wahine,”’ and before a decision was reached it was nearly 12 o’clock. The sun was the only clock of the Maoris. Pointing upwards one of them said to his companions that the sun showed midday, that the men would soon be coming in for dinner, and the best thing would be to put off killing the woman and taking the guns until next morning. Then the party walked away. No sooner had the last of them disappeared than Mrs. Appleby rushed out and “coo-eed” to her husband. When he got home he sent off a message to the soldiers, camped some miles further on. Quickly a party was sent down and escorted Mrs. Appleby and neighbouring settlers to a church that had been appointed a refuge in time of peril.

In 1879 Mr. and Mrs. Appleby went to live at Maungatawhiri Valley, where her husband had a contract for supplying puriri sleepers for the railway. Then for many years they were farming in the valley, finally coming to live at Mount Albert. Mrs Appleby reared nine sons and four daughters, two children having died in infancy.

Papers Past link

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