by Jack Lasenby
Old Smoko sighed and followed. Side by side, they stood trembling and staring down at what had scared them. Something with boots as big as bulldozers had picked up Bert Brute’s enormous carcass and carried it away as if it weighed nothing.
“Great Scott!” said Old Smoko, pointing at the gigantic tracks. “Look how bi–” His bay coat turned white and he fainted.
Billy squawked, “Ka-Wark, Ka–Doo!” like a young cockerel trying to crow, and he fainted, too. When he woke, he looked from under his eyelids and saw that Old Smoko was watching him from under his eyelids and only pretending to be unconscious.
Billy knew real men don’t faint, and he’d never heard of a Clydesdale horse fainting before, so he scrambled on to his feet, thinking it best to pretend nothing had happened. “Get up at once!”
“I was just about to arise,” Old Smoko said with great dignity. “We must follow those gigantic boot tracks up the spur.”
“You can go in front,” Billy said politely.
“Precede me, do!” Old Smoko spoke in his most formal manner.
“You’re older than me,” Billy said.
“Youth before age,” said Old Smoko.
In the end, they agreed they were both scared stiff, grinned at each other, and took turns leading.
Where the spur joined the ridge, Old Smoko bent down a green fern frond so its silver underside made a white splash in the shadows under a big old tawa stump.
“What’s that for?”
“You shall see,” said Old Smoko, and they followed the tracks north through the bush along the top of the Kaimais.
“I must remember to write in my list of observations of natural phenomena that Old Smoko sounds even more pompous when he’s scared,” Billy thought to himself.
Halfway towards Mount Te Aroha, the gigantic tracks stopped. The monster with boots as big as bulldozers had sat down, flattening half an acre of bush like a cushion, gobbled Bert Brute’s gigantic carcass, spat out the bones, cracked them open, and sucked out the marrow. Then, using a boulder the size of a small cow, it had smashed open the skull and licked out the brains. Despite being a real man, Billy fainted, for the second time that day.
As he woke and staggered up, he heard Old Smoko’s teeth chattering. “B–B–Be a m–m–man!” Billy tried to say.
“I c-c-c-can’t. I’m a h–h–horse!” Old Smoko’s teeth chattered back.
That made them laugh. They grinned at each other again and felt a bit better.
“What ate Bert Brute?” asked Billy.
“I think I know,” said Old Smoko, “but before I tell you that, you need to hear the true history of Mount Te Aroha. Sit down, Billy, for you look a little white about the gills, and the tale I am about to unfold may terrify you.”
“Real jokers don’t faint,” said Billy, but he sat down.
“Nor do real horses,” said Old Smoko, and began his tale.
“Many thousands of years ago, before the Yorkshire boar pig called Captain Cook hooked New Zealand out of the sea on his tusks, the King of the Kaimais was a troll called Doll.
“What’s a troll?”
“A giant that comes out at night. Very strong, but even less intelligent than most giants. If a troll catches you, you must keep him talking all night.”
“Why?”
“So he gets caught out in the sun.”
“What for?”
“Listen, and you shall find out. In those days, the Hauraki Plains were all kahikatea swamp. Doll the Troll liked to run along the top of the Kaimais, jumping up and down in his enormous stone boots, and making the swamp shake like jelly.
“‘Aren’t I clever!’ he bellowed in his slow dopey troll’s voice, and jumped up and down till his stone boots had flattened the top of the Kaimais.”
“What about Te Aroha?” asked Billy.
“Mount Te Aroha had not yet been invented. One night, Doll the Troll was enjoying himself, making the swamp shake, when he looked down and saw a boy catch an eel in the Waihou River.”
“Was he a Maori?” Billy asked.
Old Smoko shook his head. “All this happened a long time ago, so perhaps he was. But there is a lemon in the story, and the first lemons were brought here by Captain Cook. So perhaps the boy was not a Maori.”
“Why did a giant boar pig from Yorkshire bring lemons to New Zealand?” asked Billy.
“To stop his tusks from falling out with scurvy – because of a lack of fresh fruit and vitamin C on the long journey here.”
“Then does the lemon mean the boy could have been a European?”
Old Smoko looked at Billy. “The lemon means,” he said, “that the boy could have been a European, or a Maori, or an Arab, or an Indian.”
Chapter Eighteen
Why the Boy Held Doll the Troll in Conversation All Night, What Makes All the Ups and Downs in New Zealand, and How They Knew Which Spur To Go Down.
“Why did the lemon mean that the boy could have been a European, or a Maori, or an Arab, or an Indian?” Billy asked Old Smoko.
“Because the first lemons were brought to Europe by Arab traders from somewhere under the Himalayas.”
“What are the Himalayas?”
“A mountain range in the north of India.”
“Like the Kaimais?”
“Somewhat bigger.”
“You sound like Mr Strap,” said Billy.
“Do you want to hear this story or not?”
Billy stuck his hand over his mouth, and Old Smoko shook his head and went back to his story.
“‘Fee-fi-fo-fum!’ Doll roared.”
“I’ve heard that before,” said Billy. “What was the boy’s name?”
“Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! For goodness’ sake, if you wish to hear this story, you must learn to hold your tongue!”
“Huff!” said Billy and pretended to be holding his tongue but, behind his hand, he was really sticking it out at Old Smoko.
“Are you poking out your tongue?”
“As if I would!” said Billy. “Please continue with your story?”
Old Smoko looked suspiciously at Billy. “I trust that you are not being impertinent,” he said and went on with his story. “The boy rubbed the slime off the eel with a handful of sand, gutted it, and hung it in the smoke of a tea-tree fire. Doll the Troll watched and rubbed his belly.
“‘Fee-fi-fo-fum-feel! I wouldn’t mind a feed of eel!’ he shouted. ‘Hey, I rhymed that didn’t I? I’m a poet, and don’t know it. Ho-ho-ho! I’m so clever.…’
“The boy looked up, saw the troll blotting out half the starry sky, and knew he must hold him in conversation till daylight. ‘You can have some eel when it’s smoked,’ he said.
“‘I want my tucker now!’ grumbled Doll.
“‘You can’t go eating it raw. You’ll just have to wait till it’s done.’
“‘I can’t wait!’
“‘If you eat it before it’s properly smoked, it’ll give you indigestion.’
“‘I don’t like indigestion,’ roared Doll. ‘I get it every time I eat green plums.’
“‘Do they give you the trots?’
“Doll nodded.
“‘That’s not indigestion,’ said the boy. He looked and saw the sky was still dark, but the stars were getting fainter. ‘That’s the collywobbles.’
“Doll moaned and held his belly. ‘I had such a bad tummy-ache, I had to keep getting up and trotting to the dunny all night!’
“‘The collywobbles!’ said the boy. ‘Indigestion’s when you’re crook in the guts, but you belch and get rid of it.’
“‘I often feel crook in the guts.’
“‘That’s through gobbling, gulping your food down, and not chewing properly – thirty-two times for each mouthful.’
“‘You sound like my mother.’
“The boy said, ‘Does she tell you “Don’t gobble”?’
“Doll roared, ‘Hang it! How did you know that?’
“‘Does she say “Stop gulping your food”?’
/> “‘Darn it! How did you know that?’
“‘Does she say “Chew your food properly”?’
“‘How the heck did you know that?’
“The boy said nothing, but looked over the troll’s shoulder and watched the last star disappear.”
“Doll sounds pretty thick!” Billy said.
Old Smoko smiled. “As the sky became grey, the boy turned the eel in the tea-tree smoke and told Doll how his mother always made fried scones for his birthday.
“‘I love gutsing fried scones!’ shouted Doll. ‘Only I call them buggers afloat. With lots of golden syrup – the old Cocky’s Joy. When’s my eel gonna be cooked?’
“‘Almost ready.’ The boy glanced at the sky. ‘Just a minute.’
“‘You sound like my Mum,’ bellowed the troll. ‘“Don’t be in such a hurry,’ she tells me. ‘Have you washed your hands? Your tea will be ready in just a minute!”’ Ho! Ho!’ Doll laughed. ‘Aren’t I funny when I take off the way my Mum talks?’
“‘Exceedingly!’ The sky was turning white. The boy sprinkled salt on the eel. Doll swallowed. The boy sprinkled vinegar on the eel. Doll slobbered. The boy squeezed a lemon on the eel.”
Old Smoko saw Billy was going to say something, so he shook his head. Billy held tight to his tongue.
“The boy held out the smoked eel. ‘Stand up straight,’ he said, ‘or you’ll drip it all down your front.’
“‘That’s what my Mum always tells me!’ Doll leaned down, snatched the eel, stood up straight in the sunlight on top of the Kaimais, and turned to stone.
“‘I name you Mount Te Aroha!’ said the boy.”
His story finished, Old Smoko sat down.
Billy let go his tongue. “Is that story true?”
“What a stupid question!” said Old Smoko.
“So that’s why you keep trolls talking all night?”
Old Smoko nodded. “A much more intelligent question.”
“What happened to the eel?”
“Turned to stone, too. It is still there today, like a stone tower on top of the Kaimais, south of Te Aroha. Some people say it is an old woman, but it is really an eel.”
“So that’s what it is!” said Billy. “Are all the mountains in New Zealand stone trolls?”
“Most of them,” said Old Smoko. “Te Aroha, Mount Cook, Egmont, Ruapehu. There is something else you need to know about trolls. Once every thousand years, they are set free for one night, to gobble as much as they can. It has to last them for another thousand years.”
“What do they eat?”
“Whatever they find. Trolls are greedy gutsers. The gigantic tracks we followed are Doll’s. Last night, he must have woken and found himself free for the first time in a thousand years. With his huge nostrils, he smelled Bert Brute’s carcass, pinched it and gobbled it. Then he ran back in his stone boots along the top of the Kaimais and turned himself into Mount Te Aroha again, before the sun came up.”
“What if it caught him before he got back?”
“Then Mount Te Aroha would be in a different place on top of the Kaimais, and Doll would have to go without anything to eat for another thousand years.”
As they got to their feet, the Kaimais shook. A huge rumble thundered and thumped between the ridges and spurs.
Billy hung on to a tree. “An earthquake!”
“Just Mount Te Aroha,” said Old Smoko, “having indigestion from gobbling too fast, and not chewing each mouthful at least thirty-two times.”
“Just as well it’s not the collywobbles,” Billy said. “I wouldn’t like to be up here if old Doll got the trots.…”
“Never fear. He is stone again – for another thousand years. Now we know who made the tracks, we can go home.” Old Smoko led back along the top of the Kaimais.
“At least,” said Billy, “we know now that my real Mum didn’t run away up here, or we’d have seen her tracks.”
Old Smoko nodded.
“And there’s no sign of the kids who disappeared into the Kaimais.”
“They vanished into the hillside, so it is unlikely that we would find them up here.” As Old Smoko spoke, he held back a branch so it didn’t smack Billy in the face.
“The story says Doll flattened the Kaimais, jumping up and down in his stone boots,” said Billy, “but there’s lots of steep ups and downs along this ridge.”
“Only because of Mount Te Aroha’s indigestion,” Old Smoko told him. “All over New Zealand there are steep ups and downs because of trolls gobbling, not chewing properly, and suffering the result of their greed.”
“Mr Strap doesn’t say that!”
“What would Mr Strap know?”
“You said you were going to tell me the name of the boy who fooled Doll…”
“Did I?” Old Smoko thought. “His name was Billy.”
“Like mine?”
“Well, it was a long time ago, so they might have called him Chota, or Wiremu, or Ali, but it’s all the same.”
“I wonder if we look alike?”
“Dead ringers for each other!” Old Smoko liked to use slang occasionally. Billy thought it made him feel young. “Crikey! Look at the time!” Old Smoko exclaimed. “We’ll be late for milking.”
They ran. “Which spur did we come up?” asked Billy.
“We can’t miss it!” Old Smoko panted. A couple of hours later, he stopped by a stump and pointed at the fern leaf he’d bent, its silver underside pointing down the right spur. Tripped by supplejack, scratched by bush lawyer, they tumbled downhill and got to the back door just as Billy’s father came out, shoving his feet into his gumboots.
“That boy’s been sitting around doing nothing all day it’s about time he made himself useful getting too big for his boots he can do the milking for a change,” somebody shrieked. Billy’s Dad leaned against his gumboots, and whistled lackadaisically with his mouth closed.
As they brought the cows up to the shed for milking, Billy noticed that the bush on Mount Te Aroha stuck up like a giant’s hair. And closer, on top of the Kaimais, he saw a stone tower the shape of an eel.
“Wow!” he whispered.
Chapter Nineteen
How They Sang “Five Little Ducks”, Wiriwiried, Whateroed, and Invented the All Black Haka; Why Mr Strap Walked On His Hands to School; and Who Yelled “Hi-Yo Sylvia”?
On Monday, as they rode to school, Johnny Bryce said, “Feel the earthquake yesterday?”
“That wasn’t an earthquake,” Billy told Johnny Bryce, “that was Mount Te Aroha having indigestion,” and he told everyone the story of Doll the Troll.
Lynda Bryce and the little boy from out Soldiers Settlement burst into tears, and that started everyone else crying, so Old Smoko settled them by singing the first line of the song, “‘Five little ducks went out one day…’”
“‘Over the hills and far away.’” One by one, they stopped crying and joined in. “‘Mother Duck went ‘Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack!’ And four little ducks came swimming back.’” They sang it through again, louder this time, because they all wanted to forget Doll the Troll.
Next time they sang it through, they did the actions with their hands, and nodding their heads. Then Harrietta Wilson got the idea of rolling her eyes and standing up on Old Smoko’s back so she could stamp her feet.
The others copied her. When she stamped, they stamped, when she wiriwiried her fingers, they shook their fingers, too. When she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, they rolled their eyes and whateroed, too. As they rode into Waharoa, the Rotorua Express came thundering through from Morrinsville and saw twenty-six kids standing in a row along Old Smoko’s back, singing “Five Little Ducks”, wiriwiri-ing their fingers, rolling their eyes, stamping their feet, and poking out their tongues.
When it saw Old Smoko was rolling his eyes and sticking out his tongue, too, the Rotorua Express blew off and shot through Waharoa without stopping.
“If I was the driver of the school bus,” said the stationmaster, “I’d pu
t those rowdy kids off and make them walk to school.” He didn’t realise he’d just witnessed the inventing of the famous haka, “Te Quack Quack!” which the All Blacks use to intimidate other teams before test matches.
After morning play, Mr Strap said, “What causes earthquakes?”
“Please, Sir!” Billy waved his hand till his fingers snapped. “Ask me, Sir! Please, Sir!”
“Well, boy – what makes earthquakes?”
“Please, Sir, gobbling your tucker, and not chewing it properly!”
“Blockhead!” jeered Mr Strap. “And what makes mountains?”
“Please, sir, eating green plums, having the collywobbles, and getting caught out in the sun!”
“Nincompoop!” Mr Strap rolled his eyes. Harrietta squeaked, and stuck her hand over her mouth.
“Pay attention!” said Mr Strap. “Silence! All eyes this way! Hands on heads! At once!
“Tomorrow,” he said, and his eyes bulged, “the School Inspector is coming!”
Everyone stared at Mr Strap. Down the back of the classroom, somebody cried. Nobody turned around, but they could hear splashing.
“Yes,” said Mr Strap, “he’s coming to inspect you, so you’d all better watch out!”
Down the back of the classroom several other little kids started crying. Their tears on the floor sounded like a tap running.
“Your noses had better be wiped, and you’d better do your homework and get all your spelling and sums right, or the School Inspector will give you the cuts and put you back in the primers! If you’re on pen, he’ll put you back on pencil. If you’re on pencil, he’ll put you back on a slate, like the little kids. So there, and don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
Mr Strap gave Billy a baleful smile. “Sit up straight, boy! Feet together, bottom tucked in, looking this way!
“You try telling the School Inspector that earthquakes are caused by indigestion, and Mount Te Aroha is made out of green plums and collywobbles, and see what he has to say!” Mr Strap blew down both nostrils and rang the bell for lunch-time.
“You can stay inside and clean the blackboard for the rest of the day,” he told Billy. “We’ll see if that wipes the smirk off your face.”