2. Who is Whakaoriori Masterton?
Our awesome story of place.
‘Most Beautiful City’
In 2018 Masterton District Council entered and won the Most Beautiful City category in the Beautiful Awards, “New Zealand’s longest-running sustainability awards…a benchmark for environmental excellence.” Our local responses ran the spectrum from blithe ridicule to a kind of look-on-the-bright-side patriotism.
“‘Have all the other cities in NZ been blown up and Masterton is the only one left?’ Julia Peters asked. Many noted Masterton was seldom praised for its beauty…Others praised its parks and surrounding countryside, if not Masterton itself. ‘It’s a great place to live, but most beautiful, sad to say, no,’ Graeme Burnard said.”
— Stuff
Masterton’s mayor (emeritus) commented to a Stuff journalist “a lot of credit goes towards community organisations, because the awards are about acknowledging what communities do” (Barlow). This rings true, active volunteers are a feature of our town, with corners and causes adopted by individuals and community organisations. The charming competition entry video described discrete patches of our town, but for locals, these efforts don’t add up to the portrayed experience of our town. Perhaps the scepticism from within our community came because it felt like a slick branding exercise: selective, a little disingenuous, even embarrassing. Perhaps as our mayor intimated, our beauty is more evident in our people than in our place.
In 2021, Whanganui was named New Zealand’s only UNESCO City of Design, one of four UNESCO Creative Cities in Aotearoa. Recognising a burgeoning local maker reputation, and seeking to embed design at the centre of the way their city works, Whanganui Council’s economic development agency worked side-by-side with its community to achieve the designation as momentum toward a future-vision. “It is our intention that our city’s narrative, the way we speak and think about ourselves, will include our status as a UNESCO City of Design as a matter of custom.”
Whangārei Council, together with community volunteers, brought the Hundertwasser Art Centre and Wairau Māori Art Gallery into reality after 3o years of maintaining the vision for it—not just its facade, but the philosophy of the space in an Aotearoa context. I wonder, could Whakaoriori Masterton better direct its efforts?
The gem-spot of the valley
170 years ago Joseph Masters led a small party on a tour of the Wairarapa Valley. He went on behalf of the Small Farms Association committee, established to represent working class settlers of Wellington and Hutt Valley who were finding it difficult to obtain farmland near the city. His vision was a permanent settlement of small hold farming families to enjoy “the blessings of civilised society.” His mission, “to purchase a good large block of land, [and form our] own village in the centre.” Later, he wrote down what had compelled him to choose the site that would become Masterton, describing “an occasion of the spirit rather than of the spade” (Bagnall 9).
“I then came to a place which I considered the gem-spot of the valley; its profound solitude was striking. On the bosom of the Waipo river was a number of fowl reposing fearlessly. On one side was a high bank and trees of the most beautiful foliage I ever witnessed, and these cast a shadowy gloom over it…”
—Bagnall quoting Joseph Masters in “Masterton’s First Hundred Years”
In 1853 Greytown and Masterton became Aotearoa New Zealand’s first planned inland towns. Surveyor Captain William Mein Smith, who surveyed the entire Wairarapa Valley, saw great advantage in situating what would become Masterton across the many springs and streams of the Ruamahanga catchment. “When the committee was up here Makoura and Kouanga wari wari [sic] were pointed out to me as desirable spots. The latter I do not think desirable at all for I should be obliged to place the town so far to the Westward that it would be without water” (Bagnall 12). The amenity of the floodplain was judged to suit their preconceived concept of a crucifix-shaped town centre (the CBD) nested within a radiating arrangement of agricultural allotments. A bush-covered property would be desirable for its tree felling resource.
Joseph Masters petitioned the New Zealand Government to support negotiations with local ariki (chief) Retimana Te Kōrou who, with encouragement from his his whānau (family)—and with optimism that later plunged—agreed to sell the chosen Makoura area for the private property settlement of Masterton. A Wellington Provincial Council survey recorded the allocation of 100 forty-acre farms and 100 town-acre sections.
Current, prior and cultural occupation lore of the purchased zone was almost completely absent from survey maps. The town was designed according to a vision of a Christian egalitarian farming community — a replacement lore—built on sections owned by individuals, primary production, education, worship and commerce. In this system, landscape (whenua) was treated like a placemat.
Our invisible identity
The most commonly held founding history of Whakaoriori Masterton is the 1853 moment of agreement between local chief Retimana Te Korou and Masters for the sale of the site of Masterton. The story implies a mutually agreeable clean slate, and that not much of economic or cultural consequence existed in this place before this moment. It’s true the trajectory turned from then on, but there were centuries of important settlement history and already a developing farming economy—noted in the Introduction of a fascinating three-volume report, Wairarapa ki Tararua, published by the Waitangi Tribunal.
“We were intrigued by the unique interaction in the 1840s and the early 1850s of squatters who came over from Wellington to lease land and run sheep in Wairarapa, with hapū Māori as their landlords. The farmers and the Māori lessors rubbed along pretty well for about 12 years, learning from each other, and accommodating differences in mainly amicable ways. The sheep thrived and flocks grew, Māori received a healthy rental income, and the squatters earned more than adequate returns on relatively modest investments of capital.
Was this a pilot for a different kind of colonial arrangement that did not involve wholesale transfer of Māori land to Pākehā, but nevertheless provided a means of fulfilling the agricultural aspirations of settlers? Unfortunately, the Crown’s intervention meant that the experiment was shortlived. We can only speculate on how, if given the chance, the leasehold economy might have developed.”
— Waitangi Tribunal - Wairarapa ki Tararua Reports Vol 1, Introduction lii
A much less well known founding history is the 600–800 year occupation of the people of Rangitāne o Wairarapa, Ngāti Kahungunu ki Wairarapa, paramount hapū (extended family) Ngati Hamua and numerous other hapū who lived in a busy cluster of pā and kainga (settlements) in the land surveyed for Masterton. This rich whakapapa-based culture is practically invisible here today, even though it lives on in our tangata whenua (people of this land). The Wairarapa ki Tararua Tribunal inquiry panel found:
“The Crown purchased too much Māori land too quickly and without regard to the inevitable plight of a Māori population left virtually landless in a part of the country where agricultural enterprise was the principal route to a good livelihood…early colonisation left them struggling to assert their mana and identity in the face of a Pākehā majority that soon owned most of the land, made all of the decisions, and did not value Māori culture or language”
— Waitangi Tribunal - Wairarapa ki Tararua Report Release
The Holden hīkoi
A hīkoi through town with Jason Kerehi (a negotiator for the Rangitāne Treaty Settlement) began to bring into view his long and local whakapapa — a living civilisation with precious few clues in the space and story our community shares today. He picked me up at my house on Pownall Street in his orange-bronze Holden. While idling, I showed him the 1856 survey map that locates my house and St Matthews Collegiate as part of a large “Māori Garden”. His Cole Street house is in a large original ngāhere (forest). He hadn’t known that.
As we cruise into town Jason pauses at King and Queen Street. He indicates from Masterbowl to Farriers Bar & Eatery was Te Ropiha Pā and papakāinga (village). From here he points across the Waipoua to Faulknors Service Station and Matua Pā behind it. He tells me it was a very important whare wānanga (place of learning). He paints the picture: Chiefs from the surrounding districts would meet at Matua Pā and discuss teachings for their areas. Young men selected from the regional population were taught the art of the tohunga (priest). The young men were taught oratory and prayer as well as hunting and warcraft. We hop back in and cruise down Dixon Street into the Uncle Bills car park in the heart of town. I already knew the Mangaakuta Stream (now referred to as Town Drain) flowed through this whenua. Jason says this was and is the Whakaoriori village centre.
“In the old days, when the township of Masterton was being built, the old people had their whare (houses) lined up along the edge of the bush which ran along Dixon Street and Chapel Street. In the evenings the old people would sit outside their whare with their young ones, either in their laps or wrapped up in a blanket and tied to their backs, and they would sit and listen to the many birds — the tui, kokako, kaka, pipi-wharauroa and many other native birds singing their many songs. The old people would then chant along with the music of the birds, making up words as they went along. In many cases words of the chant would be about lost ones of the tribes they come from or the battles between tribes, and whakapapa (history), at the same time rocking their young ones to sleep while chanting their songs with the birds of the surrounding bush. Hence the name Whakaoriori (to chant).”
— Kerehi M, Pipiwharauroa Wairarapa Times Age 1991
In the Holden we crisscrossed town stopping at sites of former pā and kāinga (villages), marae (meeting houses) and urupa (cemeteries). These sites might look humble, but they hold a physical significance. Standing just off Paierau Road at Matewera — a pā site dating from the 14th century — he points to his most sacred maunga (mountain), Rangitumau. Sightlines, he said, are paramount to a place. “Joe can provide a constellation of these, place names and stories, more than I know”. From that day I exchanged old survey maps with researcher Joseph Potangaroa (Rangitāne o Wairarapa) like the one below. The caption is in his words…
A Christian egalitarian farming community
In 1853 Greytown and Masterton became Aotearoa New Zealand’s first planned inland towns. The built structure of the Whakaoriori Masterton of today was preconceived and measured into maps before being drawn into the physical landscape. Current or prior cultural occupation of the purchased zone was absent from these maps. The town was designed according to a vision of a Christian egalitarian farming community — a settler model built on sections owned by individuals, primary production, education, worship and commerce.
In early Masterton, Bridge Street was so-named after the five streams it bridged. It was later named Queen Street after Queen Victoria, the streams culverted, diverted and drained under the tarmac.
For over a century the CBD was a communal, multi-modal space. Pedestrians, cyclists, horse-drawn carts and early motor cars shared the streets. Later, Whakaoriori Masterton’s streets evolved to favour motor vehicle traffic over the other modes of transport.
In the 1930s the flood-prone Waipoua River at the north end of Whakaoriori Masterton had its pikopiko (curls) straightened to protect the north end of town. Farriers Bar & Eatery and Masterton War Memorial Stadium are among the buildings on the reclaimed land today.
Significant earthquake faults run through the heart of Whakaoriori Masterton, one reason for its many springs and streams. In June and August of 1942 it was the epicentre of a pair of large earthquakes causing extensive damage to Wairarapa and Wellington townships. The shake changed the entire look of the CBD as many original and brick buildings came down, replaced by the construction style of the time. 87 years earlier, less than two years after Masterton was founded, the most severe earthquake recorded (since European arrival in NZ) struck the Wairarapa Fault at magnitude 8.2. It raised the southern end of the Remutaka Ranges by over six metres and 18m laterally.
In 1997 a deliberate take-down happened: the demolition of architect Roger Walker’s iconic 1972 Centrepoint Mall. This building was outside the box—whimsical contemporary architecture hosting 20 small shops. It was commissioned by high profile Wellington City investors whose vision was to create an iconic focal centre in what they considered a focus-less Queen Street. It didn’t conform to dominant local tastes and was dismantled 25 years into its time, its admirers outmuscled by its detractors.
On our hīkoi along Queen Street, gently defiant local artist Ethan Eade (who wears his individuality on his sleeve) pointed out his town’s conformity and aversion to colour, literally and metaphorically. “I rather enjoy the disappointed looks I get from people” he said, and tidily summed up his ideal space: a nature-filled version of Wellington’s Cuba Street. He was astonished to learn something like Centrepoint had existed on Queen Street, removed three years before he was born. We wonder: if that demolition never happened, would we be taking selfies in front of it today?
What I notice: incoherence
“It’s like all the towns across Aotearoa, or the world. Everyone thinks their place is paradise, until you go there and confirm or deny it”.
— RNZ Nau Mai Town — Tolaga Bay/Uawa
Over my first decade of living here, when asked where I lived, I’d avoid saying ‘Masterton’. I’d say ‘in the Wairarapa’, preferring to paint myself into the surrounding landscape rather than the township.
I admire my town’s superpower: a practical attitude. I love its developing superpowers: tangata whenua values, the common values that unite us across our diversity, and the cultural awakenings that can show us potential futures. But I can’t describe any personality other than a ‘rural service town’. Nothing hangs together, so I can’t get a handle on it as a whole.
I can describe discrete aspects. There are delightful patches, old and new buildings (both kinds contribute), bits and pieces of ‘green’. But the experience moving through town is ad-hoc — islands of relief are separated by moats of confusion. Marketing campaigns tout ‘no traffic lights here’ (presumably for a chilled out vibe), but vehicles move around a race-track encircling the heart of town — it’s increasingly stressful to enter or cross by car, bike or foot. Instinctive crossings or natural corridors through the town centre are half-formed. Many good things contribute individually, but turn your head and it’s piecemeal. It’s not clear what we’re working toward in our urban framework — that which provides the setting for individual sites, and ignored the important spaces between things. We’re clinging to development habits that ignore both our natural and built context.
It was a surprise to me when locally renowned built heritage author and national archivist Gareth Winter echoed these sentiments. He emphasised his love for this town’s natural landscape over its built structures, its many waters being actually just one—the Ruamahanga River—and his current love: walking to noticing the rhythm of plants through the seasons.
This used to be the gem spot of the valley. How did we become what we are today?
Researcher Richard Wolfe investigates the evolution of this country’s townships in Footprints on the Land — How Humans Changed New Zealand. In the race to create viable communities we disregarded the existing bones that made a place the place we wanted to live (Wolfe C7). “Europeans brought preconceived ideas as to what new settlements here should look like, and their plans frequently made few concessions to local terrain and indigenous vegetation. Drawn up in advance, they presented regimented grids of streets interspersed with public and market squares and areas designated for those activities essential for a civilised society” (Wolfe 71).
Three templates were deployed: port towns, cities, and rural service towns. “Rural service towns…owed their origins to extractive industries…After sawmillers had taken what they needed, the rest was cleared for farming and so cows, sheep and crops replaced the burnt and milled bush” (Wolfe 70).
Wolfe describes “building in a hurry” as a nationwide condition: “We were busy pioneering a new country, and we had little time to give to such matters as the improvement of our towns. Today we are forced to think of such things, for the progress we have made is now endangered by the bad and inadequate layout of towns that have “just growed like Topsy” (Wolfe 69).
I see Whakaoriori Masterton is still busy pioneering, and still using the same ‘pattern book’ as most (not all) other rural service towns across the motu (country), each growing and ‘revamping’ in similar ways to one another using habitual maintenance and development policies and actions. Over time these print their cumulative effects on our township’s form, function and identity—the idea of the town. We are a typology. We seem oblivious to the power of this continuity, and while it forges on in the background our attention is focused on flagship bricks and mortar projects with tenuous budgets.
Are we looking at our background patterns? Could this become a double-opportunity, to develop our place identity by developing the infrastructural resilience required for climate adaptation, indigenous biodiversity, equity and wellbeing? What might induce this kind of thinking? “Probably a few decent storm events” opined Masterton District Council Climate Policy Manager Lisa McLaren, then suggesting “a combination of regulations, incentives and disincentives”. Nerissa Aramakutu (Māori and General Policy Advisor) added “Councillor will is important, but internal will as well — how can all of Council’s business areas contribute?” Odell Sugrue (Parks and Open Spaces Planner) saw any development as a reflection of her individual responsibility: “I just muddle on, we don’t have the beauty of a plan. When we have an opportunity, like planting a traffic island, we model what we want to see”.
Before the Waipoua River was straightened in the 1930s it curled along the bank below the hospital and Matua Pā. Its original suspension bridge tower is hidden in the bushes by the Sports Bowl. Most days I pass by the replacement suspension bridge, now a century old, and there are people enjoying it in ways we might not have predicted when it was designed. Maybe ‘place’ can’t be imposed, but if we generate the conditions it can be found.
