| One by one the witnesses rounded off the story of the stolen sheep and Mackenzie's flight. |
 |
 |
|
Easter weekend is a strange time in the South Island of New Zealand. The fact that most people are off work is tempered by the fact that all pubs apply a ludricrous surchrage, making Guinness as pricey as 8 pounds a pint in some places. To counter the sense of injustice I felt at this I made up my mind to kick start The Odyssey with a vast folkie road trip of the South Island. My plan was to take in the 33rd Waipara Folk Festival; so-called "Edinburgh Of The South": Dunedin and, on the way home, a peek at what more ice than every Scottish old folk's home combined would go through in a decade's worth of Gin and Tonics, playing a tune on the majestic Franz Joseph Glacier. The Waipara Folk Festival is held north of Christchurch in the fertile, rolling Canterbury Plains which are criss-crossed by vinyards and fringed by the snowy Southern Alps. Although it might unkindly be compared to an Touring Campervan Park site, the festival did what it said on the tin, providing good, clean, family folkie fun in a lovely location. Alas I only had enough time to stay for the opening night, and was treated to the interesting experience of a "Kiwi Ceildh" or "Barn Dance", a rustic affair which had me sweating out the white wine I'd consumed along with an assorted collection of kiwi families and a token number of festival staple hippies. After grazing my back drunkenly sliding down a hill in a plastic barrell I reprised to the darkened tents and vans in the wooded valley to seek out a Kiwi folk session. I was not disappointed as I found a large collection of musicians playing under an awning by candle light. A host of guitars and banjos strummed through a number of kiwi folk songs and "Bush Ballads" (Down Under's equivalent to the "Bothy Ballad"). Highlights were meeting an elderly lady with bright red hair who had showed Dick Gaughan this fair country when he had visited Christchurch Folk Club, and played "Both Sides the Tweed" in honour of this meeting. I was also fortunate enough to meet a couple of the Festival's artists Lindsay Shields (of 4-piece accipella girl group "Rhonda and the Ravers") and Dunedin-based Mike Marone (of 2-piece folkie outfit "Cat Gut and Steel") who had recently played Christchurch Folk Club. They played some great Kiwi Folk songs including the hilariously touching "Mackenzie and his Dog" which I recorded for the show the following day. The song tells the story of Scottish Immigrant Jock Mackenzie, who was arrested in March 1855 for stealing a thousand sheep in South Canterbury. He twice escaped custody before being brought to trial. The 1855 "Pioneer Reporter" Newspaper which covered the trial reads: In the dock was Jock Mackenzie, solid as a brick and dumb as an oyster... One by one the witnesses rounded off the story of the stolen sheep and Mackenzie's flight. "Bring in the dog", called out the judge. I saw Mackenzie start and gnaw his fingers a moment, as the crowd stared at the slim, timid little black beast, that had outwitted grey old shepherds...he slipped her chain coming in, and in another minute the slim, sad-eyed thing was scratching and whining at the woodwork, trying to get to Jock. And Jock- the dog's eyes had made a baby of him, six-footer that he was. The tears ran down and lost themselves in his red beard as he said over and over. "Eh, lassie! poor lassie. They've got you too!". Legend has it that Jock's dog was sold to a farmer, but, because she was accustomed to Mackenzie working her in Gaelic, the dog would work for no one else. After a year in custody, Mackenzie was pardonned and disappeared from public view. My own offering of Richard Thompson's "Beeswing" was well received and it was nice to find an open session which are often lacking in New Zealand. Alas the evening was abruptly cut short by a strong gale which had blown in from the mountains and I retreated to my lodgings, a bargain 5 dollar carvan I'd been offered by an kindly old kiwi I met while urinating behind a tree, who took pity on me due to the fact I'd come out to the festival without a tent. The next day I saddled up for a 6 hour drive to Dunedin to see whether it really did match up to Edinburgh. More reminiscent perhaps of Dundee, the highlights of this far flung city were a statue of Scottish near-god Robbie Burns, the huge Albatrosses out on the Otago Peninsula and rare yellow-eyed Penguins coming up the beach (while dodging hungry sea lions) to feed their chicks in nearby Oamaru. The drive onwards to Franz Joseph glacier took us through the high mountain passes of the Southern Alps, down valley trails once used by Maori hunters following the mythical monstrous flightless Moa or transporting greenstone and through mile after mile of cloud drenched native bush and rainforest. Eventually we popped out on the West Coast at Haast, a far flung settlement on the Tasman Sea which was site to 9 sealers who were stranded for 4 years in the early 1800s when their boat abanndonned them to seek supplies in Australia. The grinding mass of ice that was Franz Joseph glacier provided an awe inspiring backdrop to play a few tunes with the added fear element of falling rock, ice, and glacier melt surges from this fast moving beast. I have never played Black is the Colour so fast! Catch you later down the Folkie Trail, Tom |