Burke Manuscript

Burke Manuscript: Page 264

Transcript

When no bridge was over Colombo Street and long before Dirty Dick’s was thought of before the venerable relic now turned into a Feeding Palace had evolved out of the Market Place wilderness, at the touch of Ben Ward’s hammer and chisel; or George Cliff so many times Mayor of Timaru, and his mates had knocked together the old Immigration buildings on the Market Place in which Mrs Pollen began her housekeeping career, or Jos. Bailey had put together the building, forming part of Bligh’s or Knapman’s, in which the foundation was laid of the fortune of that liberal minded man Mr Joseph S. Buxton. We are amongst the old chips now, Sam. When I noticed you driving home your nail into the Baron and his friends watering scheme, it reminded me of old times when you used to shove up lean-tos. The nails had to go home, old boy. Why don’t you scribble a little story? You’ve seen a ghost or two in your thirty years of Christchurch. But perhaps you wouldn’t like. You might offend. Well, we mustn’t Sam if we can help it say an offensive word about anybody because dear boy, don’t you see, it is a rule most religiously carried out particularly when some meet in the White Hart or the City as a relish to their particular weakness or a few “are gathered together” at a religious tea fight. They adhere to it.

Samuel Clarkson. He was in the “fifties” a master hand at putting up lean-tos. Saw through five or 6 weather boards at once. Sam had a very voluble tongue and was devoted to the Moorhouse clique. A brother of David Clarkson whose wife started “Dunstable House”.