is situated the Giant’s Grave. Like the Egyptian pyramids, this grave has a mystery. It has come down in history that very many years ago a large tribe of Maoris were advancing down the Coast from Nelson. When they arrived at the Totara river it was in flood and the weather was very wet. The chief died while the vast tribe of Maoris were waiting to cross the Totara, so they carried their dead chief well inland and buried him about a couple of miles on the high land to the north of the Totara river, and so to mark the last resting place of the dead warrior, the Maoris spent some weeks at making a long and high mound. It is known to-day as the Gian’t Trave. It stands on the right side of the road just half-way between Addisons and the Totara river.
The above matter is not my theory, but it is as supplied to me by an old identity. A cretic in the Westport News of May 22nd, 1923, supplies the following as authentic.
“THE GIANT’S GRAVE.”
Sir,—In yesterday’s instalment of “The History of the Addisons Goldfields,” your chronicler leaves the path of sober fact and wanders into the realms of legend: To wit, briefly, that the grave-like formation known as the Giant’s Grave was raised by the Maoris as a monument over the resting place of a dead chief. I have heard that story, but this is the first one I heard accounting for the grave-like mound: Many years ago, when a youth, I, with a number of other young fellows, was being driven to a sports gathering at Charleston by the late Geordie Holmes, in his time one of the best known and most popular men in the district. He could also tell a story well, and knowing that none of us had ever been over the road before, was enabled to play his joke upon us. As the jovial Jehu bowled us along in his best four-in-hand style, he regaled those of us within earshot with the story of the Yellow and Green disturbance which your historian already chronicled, but after recounting the facts and, as I afterwards learned, coloring them a bit, he added a chapter all on his own. As a matter of fact, and as the “News” historian records, no fight took place, due to the tact and strategy of Magistrate Kynnersley (not Kinnerly). The factions, of course, demobilised before meeting, but Geordie’s version ignored this rather important fact, and he recounted how they marched on and on across the Pahikis until they met at a spot somewhere further on than the township, pointing the whip in the direction of the alleged battlefield. “And divil the mother’s son of them was left alive; they’re all buried in one grave. I’ll show it to you further on.” We told him that we thought he was a relative of Ananias, and, anyhow, “What the h—l was the disturbance about?” “Damned if I know,” said Geordie, “but I suppose they thought they should have a crack at one another on principle.” Arriving at McEnroe’s pub, we pulled up for some lubrication, and started at once to tell Phil that we thought Geordie was no George Washington, but, the wink having been passed, no doubt, Phil supported Geordie to the last trench or manuka bush, and, in support, referred us to a painting in the bar parlor representing the Irishmen marching across the pahikis. By this time we saw that there was at least a tincture of truth in the story. On resuming the journey, about a mile further on, the genial hoaxer pointed to a huge mound about a mile away. “There you are, lads! there’s thousands of men buried under there. You’ll believe me now,” and, seeing the amazed look on our faces (for what else could it but a huge grave) he laughed heartily. Passing the spot, we saw, of course, that the mound was a peculiar piece of Nature’s handiwork, and Geordie was sentenced–on the same grounds–as Tom Pepper.
Occasionally a wag will tell the
