Burke Manuscript

Burke Manuscript: Page 284

Transcript

the City Mill, from some of those patriotic gentlemen who then ruled the destinies of Canterbury and with it the valuable water rights, sold or let the lot to Mr Lane.

At that time, shipments of grain to the old country were, it may be said, almost unknown, in fact, many doubted the possibility of making it a paying business. Mr George Gould was – are we right? the man who definitively proved the capability of doing so, and published his account sales, showing an expense, if memory is good, of 2/- per bushel. That was the turning point. Wood, Cunningham & Royse, Stead & Co and the others had not yet ventured so deep. Mr Roberts, for example, being then an articled clerk perhaps, with Wynn Williams, under the tutorship of the immortal Teddy Preston the managing clerk, whose name is so lovingly embalmed with those of Darby Maher, Louis Berliner, and sundry, and odd others, who figured largely in law courts. Mr Stead at that time also being usefully employed behind the counter of the Union Bank under the guardianship of that very careful gentleman Mr Joseph Palmer. By the way, the story goes that in the olden times of some years ago, only two men managed to get into Joe’s ribs. One was a fat butcher publican, and the other was not a butcher, but he was a person with a great deal of Home, Colonial, and Israelitish experience and in many ways. But he has come out of all bung up. But look here, we are wandering. To our cockies. Before the proof was shown that the Home market was open, the poor growers were dependent on the village buyers, and of those Mr Lane was the largest. At all events in the season, day after day, a line of drays, (there were no railways everywhere, then, dear boys!) could be seen extending from the Mill, at the corner where old Elsbie used to take photos (and by the way he had in his reservoir, only for certain occasions, some very choice ones, and interrupting further, old Elsbie who had a weakness for theatricals, in the years long gone by played as an amateur with Southern, the great Dundreary, then also an amateur, before he made his great hit) right away up the Terrace, past where old Parson Twigger, one of the original owners of the White Hart, was found drowned, up to the Royal, waiting with patience after lugging their sacks, some 10, 20 and 25 miles, the convenience of the buyer approving of their bulk, as per sample, and emptying their sacks. There was many a bitter story told by some of those poor wearied troubled cockies, and many a one