Hope in times of hardship

STYLE: Mauriceville North Methodist Church is a mix of traditional Gothic - used by Wesleyan Methodists in Britain in Victorian times - and Scandinavian design.PHOTOS/ROGER BURGESS

"SMALLPOX scourge of settlers," reports the Wairarapa Times-Age in 1979, in a matter-of-fact retrospective. Another article has as its headline "Half fare refund for children who died on voyage". Sixteen people on the England - one of 18 ships that brought assisted immigrants to New Zealand from Denmark, Sweden and Norway from 1871 to 1876 - had died during the voyage.

Smallpox was rife and, because those who were sick couldn't be isolated from the rest of the passengers, the stench of the disease permeated the entire ship. It arrived in Wellington on March 9, 1872, flying the yellow flag notifying that contagious disease was on board. The surviving passengers spent the rest of the month in quarantine.

So - welcome to your new home. Not that things got much better. Many of the Norwegian passengers on the England then found their way to the Scandinavian camp near Mauriceville.

"It is reported," writes the Wairarapa Times-Age, "that many of the women broke down on sighting the camp." What is not reported is if a sort of Scandinavian fatwa was taken out on Julius Vogel, the Colonial Treasurer in 1869, whose inspired idea it was to bring thousands of assisted immigrants to New Zealand to construct roads, railways, bridges and telegraph lines and to purchase Maori land for European settlement.

The 1860s had been a decade of serious conflict over land, and hence economic stagnation, so Vogel's intention was to reconcile Maori and European and bring in settlers to kickstart the economy.

As part of the immigration programme set in place by the government to clear the Forty Mile Bush, the Norwegians - with good practical skills and "of fine character" - settled in Mauriceville North.

Conditions in the camps were certainly enough to reduce the most stoic female settler to tears.

There were huts, but they were basic: built from rough slabs, with trampled earth floors and tiny glassless windows that were covered in oilcloth. They were probably only marginally better than the accompanying tents. Typhoid fever was prevalent as a result - according to the doctor who the government employed to visit the camp - of the general want of cleanliness of the inhabitants.

"The drinking matter is contaminated with filth and decomposing matters ... the surface water gives off an intolerable stench at times."

One is inclined to wonder, 150 years later, what on earth did he expect, given the conditions? Starched sheets and scrubbed ovens?

Photographs from that time show depressing landscapes, with denuded tree trunks standing in mud.

But in such situations you band together, or cease to exist. The Norwegians were working hard to establish a community, and a true community requires a church. In 1879, a site of five acres was bought for 35 by the community, who then cleared it of bush. Scandinavians are most commonly Lutherans, and a Lutheran church was built in Mauriceville West not long after. It was a pretty little church, but fell into disrepair and, in 1957, was replaced by the rather utilitarian little building which remains today.

In 1880, Otto Christoffensen was appointed Methodist Home Minister, and he designed and built the church in Mauriceville North to hold 70 people. It seems that it was more by chance than choice that the Norwegians of Mauriceville North chose Methodism over Lutheranism.

For this writer, whose maternal great-grandfather came to New Zealand from Denmark in the early 1870s, this church holds special significance.

It's an interesting mix of traditional Gothic - typically used by Wesleyan Methodists in Britain in Victorian times - and Scandinavian design. Congregational chapels in Britain had steep, tall spires but this church doesn't. It has a more modest spire, topped with a Scandinavian cross. It also has its main entrance at the side, rather than the front.

What is most striking about this church is that it still looks much as it would have over 130 years ago. It is in an isolated, peaceful spot - no doubt many of the parishioners would have had land nearby, but nevertheless it's a rural rather than village setting, and it isn't hard to imagine horses and carts drawing up outside, or parishioners trudging along the narrow road on a Sunday morning.

Once inside, the lovely yellows and blues of the church's interior are evidence of its Scandinavian connections. And the church is clearly loved.

Nerroly Hoar, a descendant of one of the early families who has an excellent personal collection of archives, spoke of the strong links that unite the community to this day.

The little church is proof that the families who arrived to such hardship in the 1870s had decided to make this place their own. Finally, after six or seven back-breaking years, they were prepared to sacrifice time, energy and hard-won money to build this place where they could come together.