Days of future past

A visitor to William Chepmell’s farm in 1880, although ‘‘very much delighted’’ by it, told Chepmell that ‘‘it lacked perfection, just as Paradise did in its earliest days – it wanted an Eve’’. So wrote a New Zealand Herald journalist on a trip through Piako district in June 1880 when reviewing the progress of farms in the district. Chepmell’s 690-acre farm at Kiwitahi, which he had been farming since 1871, was clearly a model of pastoral development.

William Chepmell eventually found his Eve, namely Mary Elizabeth Hunt, daughter of Deborah Hunt of ‘‘The Narrows’’ farm across the Waikato River from Tamahere. The Hunt family had been farming there since 1873, but after selling that farm, Mary’s brothers remained farming in the area, John at Walton and Nicholas managing the large estates Gorton and Matamata. Chepmell and the Hunts would have moved in the same social and farming circles. John Hunt and William Chepmell were on the Piako County Council and the Licensing Committee together and both were trustees of the Waitoa Highway District [Road] Board, at least in 1881.

When William and Mary married, at St Andrew’s Church, Cambridge, in 1888, they were both in their 40s, and perhaps by choice they had no children. Nephew Henry Chepmell managed the farm. They managed to get through the depression of the 1880s-90s without having to sell up or subdivide.

From the earliest years of his settling in the Piako district, Chepmell made an impact. He was described as a big, burly man and clearly had a strong character. At a function at the Nottingham Castle Hotel in 1877, Chepmell was toasted as ‘‘the Pilgrim Father of the Piako’’. In 1881, the Waitoa settlers were planning to present him with an illuminated address and a purse of sovereigns in recognition of services he had rendered to the district. Chepmell had a low, gruff voice not easy to hear. But he made his views known without trouble evidently, successfully chairing the Piako County Council from 1887 to

1905. By 1905 he was ‘‘an old man’’ (at 67), and some people felt he ought to retire. He did, but stood again later and was on the Piako Council from 1908 to 1913, with another short stint as chairman in

1914.

In 1878 Chepmell called a special meeting of ratepayers to discuss the advisability of opening a road between Morrinsville and the Thames River, which would require raising a loan. The road was eventually built, of course, and appreciated by us all. Not all of Chepmell’s views were as progressive: in a debate about free and compulsory education, Chepmell thought it would be a mistake: ‘‘Bye and bye, one would have a nation of scholars who would be above labour.’’ Despite this view, it was Chepmell who asked in 1900 for a school to be built at Kiwitahi. Vennell & More in their ‘‘Land of the Three Rivers’’ recount that Chepmell conducted many church services ‘‘and was always accompanied to church by his dog, which slept in front of the reading desk’’. He had helped pay for the Anglican church’s construction in 1895.

William Chepmell died in 1930; his wife Mary in 1936 and nephew Henry in 1934. They are buried together in the BB block at Hamilton East Cemetery.

After World War II, the farm was bought by the Rehabilitation Department and subdivided for settling returned servicemen on to the land. The decline of horse racing as a pastime in New Zealand has been a notable feature of my lifetime. Rugby and beer continue to hold their own, their appeal transcending the generations, but few of us go to races as often as our grandparents.

One of the consequences of this change is that horseracing scams and con artists are not as prevalent as they once were.

In 1930, Vincent Pobar set his sights on the Te Rapa racecourse. Born and bred in Dunedin, Pobar had honed his skill set all over Australia. In the vernacular of the lucky country, he was a ‘‘tip slinger’’, a gentleman of seeming discernment ‘‘who makes himself pleasant, without the formality of an introduction, to persons pondering and hesitant in front of the tote’’.

Te Rapa offered easy pickings. Pobar identified the perfect victim, 71-yearold James Shirley. When he approached Shirley, the elderly man was considering his options. A polite inquiry concerning the next flutter yielded a polite response. In the fourth race of the day Shirley favoured Prince of Orange.

‘‘Don’t do that,’’ said Pobar, introducing himself as the owner of Mithra, a rival horse, ‘‘put your money on number seven.’’

Shirley took the unsolicited advice. Two pounds were bet. Pobar was indignant. ‘‘Go and put a tenner on her, man,’’ he insisted, ‘‘you were never on anything better.’’

Again, Shirley did as instructed. Then Pobar played his trump card. ‘‘What about a couple of tickets for ‘the boy’,’’ he said, meaning himself, ‘‘he will deserve something for ‘putting the race over’?’’

For a third time, Shirley obliged. Pleased with his work, Pobar made himself scarce.

He did not get very far. Having seen and heard the conversation and confident that Pobar had the evidence about his person, Detective Sergeant J Thompson made an arrest. Thompson was one of three raceday sleuths who had had the con man under surveillance.

Pleading guilty, Pobar was sent to prison for three months for false pretences and was fined five pounds, against another month, for being illegally on the racecourse.