Clare Gleeson (author of The Fairer Side of Buxton: Alfred Buxton’s Gardens and the Women Who Loved Them, The Cuba Press)
Alfred Buxton created gardens throughout much of New Zealand, as far south as Invercargill and as far north as the Waikato. During my research for The Fairer Side of Buxton: Alfred Buxton’s Gardens and the Women who Loved Them, I compiled a spreadsheet of all the Buxton gardens I discovered and was staggered at the number involved. With the earliest of these gardens created over 120 years ago, many no longer survive and those that do are generally significantly altered from their original design.
Buxton’s plan for Beaumaris, home of the Taylor family, Wairarapa. Credit: Taylor family
Since my book was published I have spoken to several garden clubs and horticultural societies and as a result have been made aware of additional Buxton gardens – some current owners or descendants of past owners even have the original plans! Other people have asked me if a particular property had a Buxton garden, or if a forebear commissioned one.
As I believe it is important that a complete register be kept of gardens created by such a significant figure in New Zealand’s horticultural history, I have built a publicly accessible directory of gardens created by Alfred Buxton at alfredbuxton.com. Gardens are listed within geographical divisions by the name of property, or who owned it if the property did not have a name, its location, who commissioned the garden and the date. The website has a search function so it’s easy to find the garden or person the user is looking for. A comprehensive list of Buxton gardens is an important part of New Zealand’s garden history and for this reason I ask anyone noticing any errors or omissions to contact me so the directory can be as accurate as possible.
Screenshot from the ‘Alfred Buxton’s Gardens’ website, April 2026
Source: ‘Wellington from the air, 1930‘, F. Douglas Mill Collection, Auckland Libraries Heritage Collections FDM-0570-G
The photo above shows part of the Miramar Peninsula, Wellington. If you fly into Wellington when a southerly is blowing, you’ll be just above the strip of water with the land to your left.
Struthers1 reports that the name ‘Miramar’ was adopted in 1870 by J. Crawford, a major European landholder, in reference to the Italian ‘mira mare’, meaning ‘behold (or wonder at) the sea’ and the supposed likeness of the area to the Gulf of Trieste where there was a ‘Castle of Miramar’. Clearly though, as the photo shows, in 1930 the Miramar Peninsula did not have the established tree life we would associate with an old castle on the Italian coast. However, this was about to change, particularly here in the area enlarged from the photo:
The very wide road running south to north is Park Rd, which is crossed by Miramar Ave. A branch of the Wellington tram system ran up Park Rd, past a main shopping area, including the Roxy Cinema (the large building to the left of the intersection).
On the 16th of January, 1931, it was reported that in these streets of ‘noble width’ a start had been made in local beautification. Pohutukawa trees were planted, and these being a ‘fairly fast grower … these streets will gain considerably in picturesque aspect in a few years’.2 Indeed this proved to be the case, and the popularity of the pohutukawa as a street tree spread within a few years to nearby streets of less ‘noble width’. Within the area considered to be central Miramar, and not including planting in parks, Para St, Chelsea St, Brussels St, Rex St, Weka St, and Rotherham Tce all had pohutukawa planted as street trees. Miramar Avenue alone has a total of 67, and there is little doubt that the sum total planted would be well over 300. As I have written elsewhere Wellington is very much a ‘Pohutukawa Town’, even though the tree is not endemic to the area. They certainly flourish near the sea, which Wellington in surrounded by, and also seem able to tolerate Wellington’s notoriously strong winds. The numbers above clearly suggest that within Wellington, no other area can challenge Miramar as the leading ‘Pohutukawa Suburb’.
The Miramar Avenue pohutukawas are particularly noticeable because they are planted on both sides of the road, but it is useful to start with a single tree visible in an historic photo from 1978 as this provides a good point of comparison to realise the rate of growth. The photo shows the Church of the Holy Cross with an already decent-sized pohutukawa in front of it:
The church is not visible in the aerial photo above as it was not opened until September 1961, but it is located at the intersection where the tram route slightly curves from Hobart St into Park Rd. The overhead lines visible here are for electric trolley buses, as the Miramar electric tram route was discontinued in 1957.3 A photo from April 2026 shows us how much the pohutukawa has grown:
The useful internet resource Wellington Urban Tree Explorer measures the tree, in 2020, at 12.3 metres high and 9.03 in diameter. Sadly, the Holy Cross Church ceased being used in September 2024 due to earthquake damage and water-tightness issues, and its future is currently undecided.4
Proceeding eastward on Miramar Ave we can see there are many more pohutukawa of similar size:
The trees have the typical feature of often being wider than they are tall, and while the photos don’t do justice to the reality, there is very much an effect of travelling through a tunnel of pohutukawa. Unfortunately, the photos were not taken during flowering – usually December to January – when the visual impact is even more pronounced.
I don’t live in Miramar so have little idea of the range of local attitudes towards the trees, however, some visual and other evidence can be marshalled on this. As noted, pohutukawa have been planted in Brussels St, but interestingly a newspaper article suggests that by 1951 when they were planted, not everyone was thrilled with them:
Source: Evening Post, 4 September, 1951, p. 9
The article does not mention that the trees were pohutukawa, but recent photos establish that they were:
The layout of the road has probably changed since 1951. We can see here that recently the council has made considerable effort to accommodate both the trees and spaces for car parking. Pohutukawa seem well-suited to such street tree planting, and we can see a further advantage of them just around the corner in Park Rd, which is the very wide road where part of the original 1931 planting occurred:
The photo to the left shows how a pohutukawa can be pruned, effectively with a ‘flat half’, to avoid power lines without destroying its visual impact. Fortuitously, while I was photographing, I came across a lines company in the act of line maintenance, and the photo to the right again shows how the structural features of the tree allow space to be made for overhead lines. Not all trees would so readily admit such pruning, nor retain their aesthetic features afterwards.
Of course, sometimes the roots of the trees cause unevenness to foopaths, as these final two photos show:
Nevertheless, given that the trees we are looking at here are 95 years of age, surely such disruption is a small price to pay for the undoubted collective effect of the Miramar pohutukawas.
References:
John Struthers, 1975, Miramar Peninsula: Ahistorical and social study , (self published). ↩︎
‘Decorative streets. A start at Miramar’, The Dominion, 16 January, 1931, p. 3 ↩︎
This talk will examine the social and political history behind one of Canterbury province’s most famous gardens at Riccarton House, Christchurch. Nineteenth-century rebel gardener Jane Deans used her garden as a giant canvas in order to create “my masterpiece in the art of planting, and my memorial as a Scotswoman”. Her garden was not just a beautiful piece of landscaping but a political critique of the prevailing social and power structures of colonial Christchurch. Through her planting she channeled not only creativity and horticultural knowledge but a biting satirical wit that challenged the very founding myths of Canterbury and elite control of church and state.
Brought to you by Garden History Research Foundation:
Event 1:The inaugural Marilyn Yeoman Memorial Talk, 2026: “The Medieval Cloister Garden: A Vision of Paradise“
A talk by international expert Dr Annette Giesecke.
Followed by:
Event 2: Behind-the-scenes of Hamilton Gardens’ Medieval Garden.
Exclusive tour of the new gardens by Hamilton Gardens Director, Lucy Ryan.
Details: 13 February 2026, 4.30 to around 6.00 p.m.
Pīwakawaka Room, Hamilton Gardens (for talk; followed by tour)
Entry $20 waged; $10 unwaged for both events — please bring cash & walking shoes
Event 1: “The Marilyn Yeoman Memorial Talk 2026: The Medieval Cloister Garden: A Vision of Paradise” by Dr Annette Giesecke
To mark the inaugural Marilyn Yeoman Memorial Talk, Dr Annette Giesecke will give an illustrated lecture tracing the history and symbolism of the medieval cloister garden from the desert oases of Persia and villa gardens of Roman emperors in antiquity to monastic cloisters in the Middle Ages.
Dr Annette Giesecke is a specialist in the history, meaning, and representation of gardens and designed landscapes. Her work extends to domestic architecture and décor in the ancient Mediterranean world, the influence of Middle Eastern garden traditions on those of the West, and the many cultural ‘uses’ of plants in antiquity: symbolic, religious, culinary, medicinal, ornamental, and technological included.
Event 2: Guided, Behind-the Scenes-Tour of Hamilton Gardens’ Medieval Garden
This will be led by Lucy Ryan, Director of Hamilton Gardens, who has an esteemed career in museum and heritage studies, which includes working at Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa as well as Auckland Museum. She has been Director of Hamilton Gardens since 2021.
by Ian Duggan, Te Aka Mātuatua – School of Science, The University of Waikato
The mistletoe species most associated with Christmas globally is Viscum album – the so-called European mistletoe – which is native to Europe, but also to western and southern Asia. Being a hemiparasite, mistletoe grow attached to a host tree or shrub by a structure called the haustorium, through which they extract water and nutrients from the host plant, but not being entirely parasitic, they still need to obtain their own energy via photosynthesis. The most common host in Britain is the apple tree, followed by lime, hawthorn and poplar.[i]
The term ‘mistletoe’, however, includes not just this one species, but many hemiparasitic plants with similar habits found in other parts of the world. This includes New Zealand, which compared to Britain is relatively high in mistletoe diversity. We have eight extant native species, compared to just one in the British Isles. All of our species are at threat from introduced mammals including Australian possums, land clearance, and declines in bird pollinators, and one of our native species has already succumbed to these pressures, presumed extinct.[ii] This blog will not concern itself greatly with the native mistletoes, however, which grow in our beech and lowland forests. We will focus instead primarily on New Zealand occurrences of the Christmas associated European mistletoe, which has either not survived following its introduction, or is now only observed very sporadically.
While the European mistletoe became associated with Christmas elsewhere as a decoration under which lovers are expected to kiss, the tradition never caught on in New Zealand, despite our native mistletoe diversity. For example, as far back as 1898, the Auckland Star declared: “With us in New Zealand the mistletoe does not enter into our Christmas rejoicings”.[iii]Nevertheless, we were certainly aware of the tradition: “Although English Mistletoe may not have been seen by New Zealanders hanging from lamps and ceilings during the festive season, few have not heard about it”, declared the same newspaper in 1938. [iv] Journalist and naturalist James Drummond elaborated with some possible reasons why the tradition never caught on in the early 1930s: “kissing under the mistletoe at this season is not in vogue in New Zealand. Native mistletoes are not grown in cultivation, and it would be troublesome to gather their flowers from forest trees on which they live parasitically. It may be considered not worthwhile, or there may be sufficient kissing all the year round without encouraging it under the mistletoe at Christmas time”.[v]
It is not well appreciated that European mistletoe has been used and grown in New Zealand. In 1914, for example, it was found growing in Christchurch on its preferred host, an apple tree, providing confidence that it wasn’t being confused with one of its native cousins:
“In a florist’s shop in High Street [Christchurch] may be seen a fine piece of the genuine English mistletoe, and its freshness was a sure proof that it had been grown in the Dominion. As it is a rarity in New Zealand, a “Press” reporter made a few inquiries about it, and found that it had been grown at [Christchurch suburb] Papanui, the grower having got out some apple trees from England with the mistletoe growing on them. A well-known nurseryman of the town told the Pressman that repeated efforts had been made to grow the mistletoe from seed placed in the bark of trees, but the efforts had, not been successful”. [vi]
In 1942, another report was made of the plant in Christchurch, again from an apple tree, which suggested European mistletoe had been grown in the city for some time:
“A large bunch of mistletoe plant, rare to New Zealand, is at present growing on an apple tree in an Avonside garden, Christchurch. The mistletoe, a small parasitical shrub, takes root abundantly on apple trees in Europe and England, and there are several stories and legends about it. The Druids regarded the mistletoe as sacred, and whenever a plant was found a ceremony was held and two white bulls were slaughtered as a sacrificial offering to the gods. A Scandinavian legend tells how Hoder the Blind God, slew Baldur, the Sun God, with an arrow fashioned from a mistletoe branch. In England the plant is traditionally associated with Christmas, when many [what might now be considered “problematic”] pranks are played by youths, who greet girls at parties by kissing them in doorways under a sprig of mistletoe. The European mistletoe bears small white berries and flowers, but the Christchurch plant has never displayed flowers in its fifty years of growth”.[vii]
Nevertheless, some were reported to flower and fruit that same year:
“The hope was expressed recently that someone in the city would report that he had been successful in acclimatising a berrying English mistletoe in a Christchurch garden… We are pleased to be informed that in the garden of St. Winifred’s Convalescent Hospital there is a plant of it growing on a fruit tree. The plant produces berries regularly in due season.”[viii]
Beyond Christchurch, the European mistletoe was also recorded growing in the Hawke’s Bay in 1940:
“A parasitic growth on the branch of a wattle tree taken from a property at Kereru, Hawke’s Bay, has been identified as the British variety of mistletoe. Though there are many varieties of New Zealand mistletoe, the English species is not particularly common in New Zealand, and it is concluded the seed was propagated through a bird, which had been feeding on the berries of the mistletoe, wiping its beak on the bark of the wattle tree. The parasitic growth looks as if it had been skilfully grafted, with no sign of the graft remaining.[ix]
Beyond these early newspaper reports, the New Zealand Plant Conservation Network currently reports the New Zealand distribution of Viscum album as having been “present locally in the Wairarapa in the vicinity of Masterton & Greytown, but seems to have died out in the early 1970s”, indicating its historical presence elsewhere is not well appreciated.[x]
Despite many of our native mistletoes flowering around Christmas, the use of our native species has thankfully never caught on, though not without an effort by some people. Back in Christchurch, the sale of a consignment of native mistletoe in some Christchurch florist’s shops leading up to the Christmas of 1984 was said to have “concerned D.S.I.R. botanists”:
“The mistletoe, which arrived at the Christchurch flower market in the week before Christmas, was apparently consigned under the label “Elytranthe tetrapetala” (red mistletoe). But, according to D.S.I.R. sources, at least some, if not all, of the flowering sprays in the consignment were the less common scarlet mistletoe, Elytranthe colensoi. Scarlet mistletoe is the biggest and most attractive of the New Zealand mistletoe, but compared with others in the South Island it has a limited distribution and a restricted host range. Its numbers are believed to be decreasing, and it is being considered for inclusion in the D.S.I.R. list of rare or endangered native species”.
Dr B. P. J. Molloy, of the D.S.I.R.’s Botany Division, noted at the time that there was no legal reason why they should not be picked for sale from plants growing on private land: “However, the practice of exploiting uncommon native plants is questionable… Most of the people who bought mistletoe from florists before Christmas would have been disappointed soon after by its bedraggled appearance… Unlike normal plants, mistletoe depends entirely on its host for its moisture supply, and once severed from the plant it wilts quickly. Plunging it in water does not help, because cut mistletoe is unable to take up water”.
This, apparently, was not the first sale of native scarlet mistletoe in Christchurch: “About five years ago [i.e., around 1980], after a consignment of mistletoe appeared on the Christchurch market at Christmas, Dr Molloy traced it to a tennis club in the Moutere area near Nelson — one of the few places where scarlet mistletoe is relatively abundant. On that occasion he had visited the club’s secretary, and had received an assurance that the venture would not be repeated… He was hopeful of meeting a similar response this time”.[xi]
One final positive note: The Department of Conservation released a Christmas media statement a few days ago, noting that the once widespread native scarlet, red and yellow mistletoes were on the increase in the Hope River Valley, in South Westland. The population numbers there have increased 57% there in the last 19 years due to intensive possum control.[xii]
References
[i] Briggs, J. 2021. Mistletoe, Viscum album (Santalaceae), in Britain and Ireland: a discussion and review of current status and trends. British & Irish Botany 3(4): 419-454
The imaginary gardens described by Lewis Carroll include elements of old gardens, reflect the changing culture of the Enlightenment and, like all good art, they can perhaps challenge our perception of the world.
I’ve always been intrigued by imaginary gardens and had the privilege of turning some of my own imaginary gardens into real ones at a place called Hamilton Gardens. But like many others I’ve always been intrigued by the evocative imaginary gardens described in books. This includes the books of famous authors like: Frances Hodgson Burnett, Kenneth Grahame, Arthur Ransome, Walter de la Mare, John Hadfield, Sidonic Gabrielle Colette, Beatrix Potter, Arthur Ransome, P.G. Woodhouse and Oscar Wilde. In some cases a safe idyllic garden provides the ideal setting for grisly discovery and you get the impression that Agatha Christie’s imaginary gardens are littered with dead bodies.
But of all of those strange and fascinating imaginary gardens, probably the most famous and surreal is the garden described in the story called Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There, first published in 1871. It was written by Charles Dodgson (1832-1898) who often used the pen name of Lewis Carroll.
In this book Alice enters a fantasy world by climbing through a large ‘looking-glass’ mirror into a room that she can see on the other side. In that reflected world things are reversed, including logic. After she’s left that room she starts running through a garden towards a hill, yet constantly finds herself arriving back to the house she’s just left. That description reflected a new garden fashion for winding, sinuous paths that often doubled back on themselves. This fashion was promoted in the early 19th century by the very influential garden writer, John Claudios Loudon. Loudon and his wife Jane told their readers that you shouldn’t follow fashions, yet for a while they more or less defined garden fashions throughout the British Empire. Another influence was the self-proclaimed expert on China, Sir William Temple. He’d never been to China but confidently told everyone that the Chinese never used straight lines and, since everything Chinese was fashionable, meandering, curved garden paths became a new fashion.
Not everyone approved. Shirley Hibberd told his readers the curved paths were ‘enough to make the butcher’s boy dizzy’. Some other unnamed person apparently said “It’s easy to design a garden these days. You get your gardener very drunk, then get another chap to follow him with a field marker.” There was also a fashion for mazes, and some of these had curved forms. So Alice wasn’t alone in getting confused by curved paths that could direct you away from the feature you were heading towards. For her that feature was a hill, where she thought she might find a good view over the looking glass garden.
The hill Alice is heading for was a regular feature in Tudor and Stuart gardens. They had been created in gardens since at least the 13th century to gain a view over walls and hedges and were generally called ‘mounts’. Another influential figure, Francis Bacon, wrote in his famous essay On Gardens in 1625 that “I would have a Mount on some Pretty Height … to looke abroad into the fields”. Apart from gaining a view, these mounts were often a way to get rid of material from newly dug moats, cellars or fishponds. They often had some form of underlying structure like the remains of a building or unwanted rubble. Henry VIII’s enormous mount at Hampton Court was made in 1532 from more than 250,000 bricks and topped by a three storied banqueting house. Of course his mount was bigger and grander than anyone else’s.
As Alice heads for the garden mount, she comes across a large flower-bed with a border of daisies, with a willow tree growing in the middle. “O tiger-lily, I wish you could talk” says Alice. “We can talk” replies the tiger-lily “when there’s anyone worth talking to”. It was probably inevitable that it would be the tiger-lily that would take the lead ahead of the other rather rude talking flowers that included roses, daisies, violets and delphinium. Tiger-lilies had been introduced to Britain from China in 1811 and like everything else from China they held an exotic fascination. In the Victorian era there was another popular fashion for associating each flower with a symbolic meaning and so the tiger-lily was said to symbolise confidence, pride and a boastful attitude, which you can see reflected in its stroppy response to Alice.
A book published in 2001 by Peter Thompson called The Looking Glass Garden has nothing to do with these looking glass plants. Instead it’s about plants and design from the Southern Hemisphere, including New Zealand, Australia, South Africa and Chile. The title is inspired by a question Alice asks herself as she’s falling (like Robert Kennedy Junior) down a very deep rabbit hole.
“I wonder if I shall fall right through the earth! How funny it’ll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downwards! The antipathies I think… but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know. Please Ma’am, is this New Zealand?”
Rather more pleasingly, to fall through the centre of the world from our part of New Zealand might land us somewhere closer to Salvador Dali’s Surrealist Museum. Dali was directly inspired by Alice’s adventures because he saw them as a journey through the subconscious. The elephants that Alice sees drinking nectar from giant flowers could easily have inspired Dali’s paintings and sculpture of long legged elephants. He illustrated a book of Alice in Wonderland and in 1977, painted the white rabbit with one of his iconic melting pocket watches and created a bronze sculpture of Alice with roses blossoming from her head and hands.
Carroll’s story is full of surrealist details and characters. Alice through the Looking Glass was a sequel to his Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865), in which many of the characters are anthropomorphic playing cards. In the Looking Glass book the theme is chess. In my 1896 edition the author has added a note at the front to explain how the chess pieces and characters will play out ‘in accordance with the laws of the game’, which he explains with a diagram and a series of chess moves. Each character in the book is associated with a particular chess piece in this introduction.
The first chess piece that Alice meets in the Looking Glass Garden is the Red Queen. The queen gives Alice a sound piece of advice that many have found useful. “Curtsey while you’re thinking what to say. It saves time.” In response you’ll generally find that people will frown and ask you what you’re doing. After a brief discussion, the Red Queen and Alice walk to the top of the hill. From there Alice could look out in all directions and see that the surrounding garden was divided into squares just like a large chess board. The squares were divided by a number of little brooks running straight from side to side and the squares defined by a number of hedges that reached from brook to brook. The tradition of large-scale chess-like patterns in gardens were sometimes found in Renaissance and Baroque gardens with the formal layout of parterre or knot gardens incorporating checkerboard-like geometric patterns. There were references to chess board patterns in Tudor and Georgian gardens with black and white chequerboard paving or alternate squares in different coloured mulches, like white limechip, crushed red bricks or black coal.
This certainly wasn’t the first garden to be set out like a chess board. The ancient Indian encyclopedia called the Brhat-Samhita mentions gardens being set out like an ashtapada, which is an eight by eight, sixty four square grid orientated to the four cardinal directions. Ashtapada was a board game that used this grid but there was another 64 square grid game that their ancient culture had invented called chaturanga. We now call that game chess. Both games were older than the 6th century encyclopedia description and were said to have been played by Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha himself.
The Red Queen explains that the entire garden is laid out in squares, like a gigantic chessboard, and says that Alice, representing a pawn, could become a queen if she can advance all the way to the eighth rank on the board. Beyond the hill there’s a stream where Alice rows a boat for a sheep while collecting beautiful scented rushes that immediately begin to fade like melting snow. Later there’s a forest where she meets a very confused knight. Finally she crosses the final brook to reach “a lawn as soft as moss, with little flower-beds dotted about here and there”, which sounds as if she’s back in a garden setting.
Since Tudor and Stuart times, gardens sometimes featured topiary figures representing chess pieces. A famous surviving example is Levens Hall in Cumbria, whose overgrown topiary figures partially inspired the Surrealist Garden at Hamilton Gardens. If you Google Looking Glass Garden you’ll come across references to this garden. The explanation, apparently written by AI, mentions that “this is because of its dreamlike, unsettling disorientating atmosphere, distortions of scale, biomorphic topiary and fantasy environment that visitors can walk through’. Proposed further development of this garden using AI to create a metaversal experience may make it far more surreal than Carroll’s Looking Glass Garden. AI’s regular reference to this particular garden is probably because of the number of people writing about their impression of shrinking. Objects in the Hamilton Surrealist Garden like: the wheelbarrow, garden gate, tap, flowers, spade and deckchair are ten times the normal size so a visitor can feel they’ve shrunk like Alice, who experiences a garden as a very small person. She leans against a buttercup to rest and fans herself with one of the leaves. Then she meets a large blue caterpillar sitting on top of a mushroom smoking a long hookah.
Surrealist Garden, Hamilton Gardens. Photo by Johnragla. Used under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.
At this point in Alice in Wonderland films, like William Sterling’s 1972 and Tim Burton’s 2010 versions, the garden setting gets quite trippy. Mind altering drugs like opium and laudanum were freely available from places like Harrods at the time of Carroll’s writing, but there’s no evidence he used them. However, he did suffer from migraines and hallucinogenic experiences that have come to be formally referred to as AIWS, Alice in Wonderland Syndrome. But the Alice gardens are still weird places, the product of Lewis Carroll’s fantasies that could so easily be interpreted as horror stories.
The Lewis Carroll characters in these books became quite popular garden sculptures through the early 19th century. The best known New Zealand examples used to be the fantastic old stone figures of the Duchess and Knave in the Larnach Castle garden, which had clearly been inspired by the original Tenniel drawings. The Alice stories were very much in fashion when the Larnach children were growing up. When the Barker family took over the Larnach estate they continued that theme with an Oamaru stone Cheshire Cat and the Queen of Hearts throne. There used to be a Looking Glass Garden in the Papamoa Hills near Te Puke that featured fairytale and whimsical detail. It’s apparently fallen into disrepair and the last Tripadvisor post says that ‘the toilet has been taken over by spiders’. That’s quite a Looking Glass feature, especially if the spider can talk. Some major gardens have featured Alice in Wonderland garden displays with Alice themed props, fantastical floral arrangements or have used garden features as storytelling devices, sometimes with interactive mobile phone apps. These include: the New York and Atlanta Botanic Gardens, the Hunter Valley Garden near Sydney and the Alice in Wonderland Garden in Bucharest.
The Cheshire Cat up a tree at Larnach Castle. Photo by Ciell, used under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.
Mention has been made of Carroll’s significant influence on literature, garden design and popular culture by subverting Victorian-era expectations, symbolising childlike desire, and inspiring surrealist and whimsical themes. There have been imaginary gardens that have had a major influence on garden design such as: Genji Monogatari, Dream of the Red Chamber and The Decameron, but Lewis Carroll’s stories didn’t encourage a new type of garden. Instead I would argue that Carroll was reflecting changes that were occurring during the Romantic Period (1738-1850). Renaissance and Baroque gardens had been neat, formal and well mannered, with nature apparently well under control. You played by the rules, like the playing card characters who repainted the white roses red to avoid having their heads cut off. But then around the mid 18th century something bizarre started to happen. A new form of garden design became popular called the Picturesque and old garden traditions were turned on their head, a little like a Looking Glass Garden. Instead of neatly trimmed hedges and grass, naturalistic unpruned planting and long grass started to become fashionable. Flat neat paths were replaced with rough uneven ground like the ‘ridges and furrows’ on the Red Queen’s croquet lawn. Instead of gardens that projected complete control and order there were newly created overgrown gothic ruins, dangerous rustic bridges and cliffs. Instead of well mannered promenading along wide walks, there were caves where garden staff would sometimes be required to make the sound of tormented animals or a thunder noise or pretend to be a hermit living in a cave. ‘Now chaps, this afternoon we’ve got visitors so I want you all to stand at the back of the cave and make tormented animal noises.’
Most of the main transformations that have shaped the modern world were reflected in a new form of garden and for the Romantic Period that was the Picturesque. You really need to understand the Romantic Period to understand the Picturesque gardens, but the Picturesque gardens themselves are a very direct way of understanding the Romantic Period. These new forms of garden may have sometimes been strange but they were an indication of a new sensitivity that liberated most of the arts with a reaction against rationality and order. It was replaced with individual expression, risk taking and mysticism that challenged the old order and rules. Emphasis was placed on subjectivity, emotional response and imagination over rationality and reason. This was reflected in garden design and the arts and then, through Lewis Carroll, it was also reflected in children’s literature.
Not everyone can visualise imaginary gardens but most people like having their imagination prompted, which you can see from the numbers who visit the Tolkien hobbit gardens at Hobbiton, near Matamata. With the help of AI, amazing gardens are now being created online where budgets, clients and planning regulations offer no restraint to the imagination. It’s likely they’ll substantially replace the imaginary gardens that have been described in literature, but I can’t help feeling something is missing. If you don’t need to use your own imagination, those imaginary gardens can never be as memorable or personal. Some writers, like the English novelist and playwright Susan Hill, say that their love of gardens started with the garden briefly described in Alice in Wonderland. She mentions that she can always “imagine every detail of that garden and could wander freely among its beds and borders, up and down the broad paths in the summer sunshine.” Yet the description in the book is very brief.
“She knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains”.
It seems that the lack of detail has engaged Hill’s imagination. It’s just a tantalising glimpse of a magical place of brightness, Victorian gardenesque spender and moving water beyond the gloomy inner room in which Alice is trapped, because of her size.
Perhaps the poor and destitute in Gaza can carry on by imagining the garden of Jannah, described in the Quran. A charbagh garden filled with lush greenery, bountiful fruit and four rivers of water, milk, honey and wine. And that’s perhaps the value of imaginary gardens. They’re a place to escape to, as perfect or strange as you want them to be. Albert Einstein said that “Imagination is more important than knowledge because knowledge is limited. Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere”. Through a looking glass into remarkable gardens or perhaps, through ignorance, down a rabbit hole.
References
Anita Brookner, Romanticism and its Discontents, Penguin Books, 2001
Jane Brown, The Pursuit of Paradise – A Social History of Gardens and Gardening, Harper Collins, 1999,
Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, Collins’ Clear Type Press, 1896
Jane Fearnley-Whittingstall, The Garden – An English Love Affair, Seven Dials Paperback, 2002
Susan Hill & Angela Barrett, Through the Garden Gate, Hamish Hamilton London, 1986
John Dixon Hunt, The Picturesque Garden in Europe, Thames & Hudson, 2002
Peter Sergel, Inspiration in the Garden, Penguin Viking, 2004
Charles Watkins & Ben Cowell, Uvedale Price – Decoding the Picturesque, Bydell Press, 2012
The sundial in Hamilton’s Garden Place has been an iconic fixture in the centre of the city since 1953. Generations of children have played on it, various vandals have bashed it, and thousands of people have gazed at its various dials without the slightest understanding of how it works.
The sundial immediately after its Garden Place installation in 1953. Lindsay Amner collection.
My grandfather, Allan Bryce, designed the sundial and with the aid of my mother Bessie Amner’s research into the Hamilton Astronomical Society, I can provide some of the background as to how the sundial came to be a much loved feature of the central city.
In the early 1930s, the Hamilton Borough Council was discussing the potential removal of the Garden Place hill. The Anglesea Street cutting had been carved through the hill in 1932, and flattening out the eastern, central city part of the hill seemed a good idea to many people.
But to the local star gazers this was a terrible idea. Allan Bryce, a prominent local chiropractor, scientist and astronomer, believed strongly that an astronomical observatory should be built on top of the hill. To push this idea, he and several of his friends formed the Hamilton Astronomical Society in 1933 with the initial aim of opposing the Council’s plan to remove the hill.
In September 1936, Allan Bryce proposed that the Astronomical Society present a sundial as a gift to Hamilton to mark the coronation of King Edward VIII. Allan designed an eight dial sundial – for Edward VIII – and the New Zealand Herald made and engraved the dials in their printing shop for free. The other metal parts of the sundial (the frame, pins, spikes/gnomons, etc) were cast and machined by Robert Alchin. But in December 1936, Edward abdicated, removing the significance of the eight dials and greatly disappointing Allan Bryce.
Allan Bryce with the completed sundial in his backyard in 1937. Lindsay Amner collection.
But in spite of the King’s lack of cooperation, the sundial was largely complete in February 1937 and was offered as a gift to the town. The Council ignored the offer, however, probably because the Astronomical Society was one of the most vocal groups opposing the plans for removing the Garden Place hill.
In mid 1938 the Council voted to remove the hill and a year later it was gone. World War Two arrived about the same time as the hill was shoveled into the gullies around Whitiora, mainly filling in areas between Rugby Park and the Waikato River. Ulster Street runs over what was once a gully, now filled with the Garden Place hill, near where the golf driving range is today, and Beetham Park also sits on a hill-filled gully.
With no interest from Council, with a war raging, with much of central Hamilton an Air Force camp, and with the hill where they wanted to put their observatory turned into a carpark, temporary military offices and air raid trenches, the Astronomical Society sadly put their sundial away in Allan Bryce’s shed behind his house on River Road.
The sundial in the 1970s showing vandalism damage – the bent gnomon on the left. Lindsay Amner collection.
When the war ended in 1945, Hamilton town became a city, the air raid trenches were filled in, the temporary buildings were removed and the Astronomical Society reopened their offer to gift the sundial to the new city. Since the hill was gone and therefore opposition to its removal was also gone, the City Council seemed more inclined to accept the gift. In 1947 the Council eventually voted to accept the sundial but then began to debate where it should be placed, along with the town clock. The two timepieces would logically go together but the Council were unable to make a decision about it, so nothing was done for several more years.
The newly crowned Queen Elizabeth II gave new life to the project in 1953. Her visit to New Zealand that year included a stop in Hamilton over 30-31 December. The Council agreed that this event would be perfect for the sundial to finally become part of the cityscape. The sundial was therefore hauled out of Allan Bryce’s shed and refurbished ready for installation at the front of Garden Place.
Robert Alchin and Allan Bryce with the disassembled sundial in mid-1953. Lindsay Amner collection.
The granite plinth had been damaged during storage and had to be sent off to Auckland to be refinished and the Astronomical Society recorded the plinth design as follows:
“The ten granite segments will enclose a terrazzo surround at base of dial. The granite slabs will form, when placed in position, a 10 sided step up to the platform on which the pedestal stands. Carved in stone on the vertical polished edges of the slab are the names of 10 places of interest to visitors to Hamilton. The top surface of each slab has a bronze plate set into it indicating the direction from Hamilton to the place named on the step, together with its distance in miles. The following places are named – Auckland, Whitianga, Tauranga, Te Aroha, Rotorua, Chateau, Waitomo Caves, Kawhia, Raglan and Waikato Heads.”
Seventeen years after it was first proposed and built, the sundial was finally installed in December 1953, in time for the Queen’s motorcade to glide serenely past it, and for the young Queen to wave at it.
With the sundial now belonging to the city, the Council took on the job of maintaining it. In 1955 they voted £500 for the building of a stainless steel railing around the sundial to try to prevent some of the vandalism which constantly plagued it. The railing was finally installed in 1957 and the last pieces of the terrazzo surround were completed in 1958.
Hamiltonians viewing the sundial shortly after its installation in 1953. Lindsay Amner collection.
The original site for the sundial was centrally on the edge of Victoria Street on the front edge of what was then a carpark. In about 1968 Garden Place was refurbished with fountains and grassed areas, and the sundial was moved back about 20 metres from Victoria Street to a position nicely placed near the fountains and the central areas of the park. Then a further Garden Place remodel in the early 2000s saw the sundial moved again, further west away from Victoria Street, to sit in front of the public library. It is still there today, 72 years after its installation, the longest lasting public art feature in the central city and a monument to a group of scientifically minded men, particularly Allan Bryce and Robert Alchin, whose vision for the central city was never realized, but their gift to the city remains.
The sundial in September 2025. Photo: David Papworth.
Sources
Amner, Bessie M.L., Star Struck: the Hamilton Astronomical Society 1933-2003, Self Published, Hamilton, 2005
A number of newspaper reports were published in the early 20th Century on the figureheads of ships featuring as items of statuary in New Zealand gardens. In previous blogs we examined the stories of the figureheads of the Hydrabad and HMS Wolverine. But there have been plenty of reports of others that have adorned our gardens besides these. Though not exhaustive, in this final contribution I examine the interesting stories of several more of these, including the figureheads of the America and the Helen Denny.
AMERICA
One of the most interesting remaining stories of ship figureheads appearing in New Zealand gardens is that of one that had lost its provenance. In March 1930, it was reported that an “exceptionally fine figurehead, true to nautical regulations in being one and a-half times life size, has lost her identity. For many years she reposed in the garden of Mr. J. J. Craig’s house, in Mountain Road [Epsom], but after 23-4 years no one remembers where she came from”.[i]
“This exceptionally fine figurehead, true to nautical regulations in being one and a-half times life size, has lost her identity”. Sun (Auckland), 22 March 1930, P 17
Soon after, this figure – like that of the Wolverine in our previous blog – made its way into the collection of ships’ figureheads at the naval headquarters in Devonport, Auckland. Despite the origin being unknown, it was noted to be “in an excellent state of preservation”. The figure was “that of a girl dressed in Grecian costume. The figure is a particularly fine one, and represents a very high degree of perfection in the art of wood-carving. The features are well-proportioned and the flowing garments have a most realistic appearance.”[ii]
It took some time to be confident of its origin, but it was “solved after four months’ investigation by Mr. T. Walsh, of Devonport, who undertook the task at the request of Commander Nelson Clover, [the] officer commanding the naval base at Devonport”.
Of the Devonport naval collection, the figurehead was described as the “largest and most ornately carved”. At first it was assumed to have come from the Constance Craig. “An inspection of the figurehead at the dock”, however, led to the conclusion that it did not come from this vessel: “Practically all the “shell backs” [a term used for an old or experienced sailor, especially one who has crossed the equator] to be found about Auckland waterfront, were consulted about the possible origin of this old piece of ship ornamentation. The Joseph Craig, the Hazel Craig, the Quathlamba, and the Royal Tar were mentioned as being likely ships, but in each case investigation proved that the figure-head did not come from any of the vessels mentioned. The possibility that the late Mr. J. J. Craig had bought the figurehead in Fiji or elsewhere was then examined. After 60 inquiries had been made a chance meeting with a carter formerly employed by J. J. Craig, Ltd., elicited that for many years the figurehead had reposed in a shed on the old Railway Wharf. The following up of this line of inquiry led eventually to establishing that the figurehead belonged to the ship America, which put into Auckland in distress in 1903 and was condemned here”.
Research uncovered at the time found that the America had started life in 1868 under the name ‘Mornington’. “In July, 1903, she sailed from Newcastle [Australia] with 2,400 tons of coal, but was two days out when a leak developed in the stern”… “The ship put into Auckland, and the captain made a great fight to save his ship. She was condemned on September 3, 1903, and cargo and ship were sold. Some years later the ship was dismantled and anchored in “Rotten Row.” When the American fleet visited the Waitemata, in 1908, the America left her moorings and fetched up alongside one of the worships. The weather was exceedingly rough, and every effort to shift the hulk failed”… “the old hulk was taken to the “bay of wrecks” at Pine Island, where holiday-makers subsequently set her afire”.[iii]
HELEN DENNY
“Mounted in a Roseneath garden, this figurehead was once on the bow of the Helen Denny, well known as a trader and cadet ship on the New Zealand coast”. Evening Post, 25 September 1935, P 9
Many column-inches, commonly with some of the most spectacular images, were dedicated to the figurehead of the Helen Denny. In 1935, “after having been lost track of for a number of years”, The Evening Post reported that “the figurehead of the intercolonial barque Helen Denny has turned up again. The figurehead, which is in a remarkable state of preservation, is the property of a Roseneath [Wellington] resident, and is to be mounted in a garden overlooking the harbour where the old vessel spent many years as a hulk”.
“The form of the figurehead is such as was familiar in bygone days, and is that of a lady attired in a white dress of the mid-Victorian, period, trimmed with green and gold. Clasped in her right hand on her breast is a red rose. She has black hair surmounted by a coronet, and gold bangles encircle her arms”.
The Helen Denny was described as “an iron ship of 695 tons, with a length of 187.5 ft”, and was said to have “took the water in the Clyde in 1866”. “The name Helen Denny was bestowed upon her as a compliment to the wife of the then manager of Denny and Company, the famous Dumbarton shipbuilders… The figurehead is intended as a likeness of that lady, and although its merit cannot readily be judged by comparison, it appears to be a remarkably fine piece of work”. [iv]
“For 10 years she traded out of Glasgow to Rangoon [now Yangon, Myanmar] and those exotic eastern ports… Then the Shaw, Savill Company bought her and brought her into New Zealand waters”.[v] For many years, the Helen Denny was well known as a trader and cadet ship on the New Zealand coast.[vi]
“THE BEAUTIFUL HELEN DENNY, one of Captain Ferdinand Holm’s vessels well known in New Zealand as a training-ship for boys”. Evening Post, 10 October 1936, P24
The barque was dismantled in 1912 for service as a hulk, after which the figurehead was said to have “certainly had a chequered history”.
The Evening Post in 1935 noted that: “Many years ago it was picked up off the beach by a shipping clerk, now retired, who had it in his garden at Roseneath for some time before passing it on to its present owners. What happened to it prior to this and how it came to be on the beach are not known. There is a well authenticated story to the effect that when Colonel Denny visited New Zealand many years ago, he asked for the figurehead. The company which then had the vessel promised to let him have it when she went out of commission, but this was never done”.[vii]
The figurehead sat in that Roseneath garden for several years. In 1938, it was reported, rather poetically, that “Standing among the flowers of a Roseneath garden, the carved wooden figure of a graceful woman watches with unblinking eyes the steamers loading and discharging merchandise, the fussy tugs, the harbour ferries, yachts, coal-hulks, all the colourful shipping of the port of Wellington. She is watching doubtless, for the coming of the tall and stately sailing vessel whose figurehead once she was—but the old barque Helen Denny, last and loveliest of the colonial clippers, is ending her days as a battered bulk in Lyttelton.”[viii]
The figurehead of the barque Helen Denny. Evening Post, 30 October 1937, P 24
Other Figureheads in Gardens
Finally, I provide here short notes on three other vessels, whose figureheads were noted in New Zealand suburban gardens. Again, however, this coverage is by no means exhaustive, with snippets of others also appearing in various newspapers in the early 20th Century.
NORTHUMBERLAND
The figurehead of the Northumberland, featuring “a warrior with a sword”, rested “in the garden of Mr Frank Armstrong, at Akitio”, in the Manawatū-Whanganui region.[ix] The Northumberland was wrecked on the Petane Beach (Napier), on May 13th, 1887”. A 1910 report noted that “After the officers and crew of the Northumberland were saved the vessel broke up and the figurehead was the only thing saved”.[x] A story from the 1920s, however, suggested that more was salvaged. The Hawera Star informed its readers that in the cargo of the ship there “was a quantity of rum”… “and some of it was among the first of the flotsam to come ashore. The crowd immediately broached it and got very tipsy, giving the police a lot of trouble”. This report noted that the “figurehead of the Northumberland was secured by a Westshore fisherman, and was for years a prominent object in his garden”.[xi]
“The figurehead shown in the photo belonged to the ship Northumberland, wrecked on the Petane Beach (Napier) on May 13th 1887. New Zealand Graphic, 23 November 1910, P 18
AGNES JESSIE
The “figurehead of the barquentine Agnes Jessie, which was wrecked with the loss of five lives” on Mahia Peninsula while on route between Lyttelton and Auckland[xii] in 1877, was “discovered in the garden of Mrs. K. Northe, of Havelock Street, Napier” in the 1930s. The Auckland Star reported that the “figurehead is in a splendid state of preservation, and represents a young woman in the dress of the early Victorian period. It has been in the possession of Mrs. Northe’s family for nearly 40 years, having been washed ashore nearly two months after the wreck happened”.[xiii]
ROBINA DUNLOP
The Robina Dunlop was wrecked in the mouth of the Turakina River, while in transit between Wellington and Batavia (now Jakarta, Indonesia) in 1877.[xiv]In 1924, the Manawatu Times reported on a Mr John Grant of Turakina, who was “was an interested visitor at Saturday’s All Black match. He is 73 years of age and from his upright lissome figure, looks as though he could still play the game with the best of them”. Although it is unclear why this was part of the story, it continued: “Nearly sixty years ago he carried the carved figurehead of the wrecked vessel “The Robina Dunlop” on horseback from the beach, to his father’s home, where it still stands in the garden, a beautifully carved-life slzed representation of the lady after whom the vessel was named”.[xv]This figurehead, also, was later presented to the Devenport Naval base collection in 1936 by Mrs. M. Grant.[xvi]
Figurehead of the Robina Dunlop. Auckland Star, 10 September 1938, P1 (Supplement)
11 September, Chartwell Room, Hamilton Gardens, 7 pm.
$5.00 entry fee (cash, please!)
Imperial War Museums via Getty Images
At the beginning of the Second World War, Britain imported 60% of its food, much of it by ship. However, with a naval blockade by German warships, this traffic and the nourishment of the nation, were under severe threat. The government introduced a food rationing scheme in January 1940 to avoid the food shortages endured during the First World War.
To support the food supply and supplement the increasingly strict rations, a ‘Dig for Victory’ campaign was launched by the Ministry of Agriculture in October 1939, encouraging families to grow and prepare their own food. Everyone was encouraged to turn their flower beds and lawns into vegetable gardens, ‘Victory gardens’. For this propaganda the Ministry even employed Disney cartoonists, who created such characters as Doctor Carrot and Potato Pete.
The Ministry of Food started publishing Food Facts pamphlets in 1940, and magazines, newspapers and daily radio programmes such as ‘The Kitchen Front’ and ‘the Radio Doctor’ were full of ideas and recipes to enable families to make the most of the weekly rations. One of the most significant contributors to this campaign was a New Zealander, Bee Nilson, whose efforts to encourage British householders to make the most of home-grown vegetables to make nourishing meals, despite the privations of war, resulted in an overall improvement of health standards across the population. ‘Rationing enabled the poorest sections of society to eat more protein and vitamins, which led to a substantial upturn in the health of the nation’. (Imperial War Museum)
Gail Pittaway is a writer and lecturer, now part-time, at Wintec, Hamilton, whose research interests include literature, food history, New Zealand cookbooks and garden design. This talk arises from her recently submitted PhD Thesis, A New Zealand Food Memoir, tracing a personal journey through food changes in the middle of the twentieth century. In this research she ‘discovered’ the work of Bee Nilson whom she considers an unacknowledged New Zealand food hero.
A Victory Garden in a bomb crater, London, Office of War Information (NARA record: 1138532)
As I noted in the first post on the Arrowsmith Phoenix palms, a worldwide ‘palm craze’ spread among garden enthusiasts from the 1850s on.1 British migrants brought this with them to the colonies where they settled, including New Zealand. At times this led to an appreciation of the nikau (Rhopalostylissapida), but relative to the palms that fascinated Europeans in their newly built palm houses (like the famous one at Kew), the nikau palm could easily be overlooked. Here’s an interesting travelogue where we can partly see this dynamic expressed:
This is taken from an 1884 letter to the editor of the Taranaki Herald, titled ‘A trip home in the S.S. Doric‘. It is very likely that the ‘Brazilian palm tree’ discussed was in the Rio Botanic Garden’s 750 metre long ‘Avenue of Royal Palms‘. Justifiably, this had worldwide renown though the palm planted there – Roystonea oleracea – actually originates in the Carribean. Evaluating the nikau in relation to it is an ‘apples and oranges’ kind of comparison, which the correspondent isn’t really encouraging. Perhaps he just wishes there were gardens like this in New Zealand, but for sure the mention of the nikau does at least show that New Zealand’s sole endemic palm had some significance for a New Zealander on their trip back ‘home’ (i.e., to England) as early as the 1880s.
Several years before the palm-interested correspondent made these comments, nikau plants and/or seeds were actually travelling about the globe. In September 1865 the Australian government botanist Ferdinand von Mueller wrote to George Grey requesting seeds of what he then called New Zealand Areca palms (Areca sapida being the original botanical name). Two months later he gratefully acknowledged receipt of both seeds and ‘living plants of this noble palm’, which he intended to distribute to interested enthusiasts about the globe.
Nikau seeds and plants were not the only thing travelling the globe in the late 1800s. After a visit in 1881 to New Zealand, Marianne North2 gifted the following artwork to Kew Gardens, London:
By the time of this gift -1882 – nikau palms had been growing in Kew’s Temperate Palm House for a few years. New Zealand travellers, at least those who bypassed Rio, can be found well-pleased upon visiting Kew to find healthy specimens of nikau ‘quite at home’:
Early use of the nikau for decorative and ceremonial occasions
One of the commonest ways in which the nikau was used in New Zealand from the 1850s to the early 1900s was for decorative purposes. Probably, whole plants were not dug up, rather fronds were cut from nikau palms sourced in the ‘bush’. We’ll see some photos shortly, but searching Papers Past using the term ‘nikau palm decoration’ turns up many accounts of such decorative use. As early as 1859 the Nelson Examiner includes in a report on the laying of the foundation stone for Nelson College that
Nikau were obviously growing in Nelson during the reign of Queen Victoria (VR stands for Victoria Regina). Nikau were also growing in Lower Hutt as indicated by this extract from the New Zealand Herald, from which this blogpost’s title comes:
There are no available photos of this arch constructed for the Prince’s visit in1869, but there are many photos available of the remnant nikau palms from which the fronds were probably sourced:
Source: Nikau palm trees at McNab’s Gardens, Lower Hutt, Wellington Region. Williams, E. Ref: 1/1-025586-G. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, /records/22785533
This photo was taken circa 1885, clearly showing nikau large enough to provide fronds for decorative arches. MacNab’s Gardens were originally the private gardens of Alfred Ludlam, who was a politician, farmer, and horticulturalist, as well as being a prime mover in the founding of the Wellington Botanic Gardens. Many of the nikau palms so liked by Ludlam survived the later transition to Bellevue Gardens, and then into the gardens of private residences (see NZ Tree Register). Recognising the status of these remnants the Hutt City Council district plan protects all remnant nikau; it is not known what happened to the ‘tai tai’ (toetoe).
Given there are a good number of historic photos it is worth looking at a few examples to see how nikau (and other plants) were employed for decorative purposes. Here are a few presented in chronological order:
Source: Wellington’s Royal Reception Celebrations, June, 1901.Auckland Libraries Heritage Collections AWNS-19010628-04-02Source: Gladstone Road looking towards the decorated fire bell archway for the opening of the Gisborne-Auckland railway, 26 June 1902. Auckland Libraries Heritage Collections AWNS-19020710-12-02Source: Queens Wharf decorated for the American Fleet, 1908. Auckland Libraries Heritage Collections 2-V0020Source: Crowd at Kohukohu, celebrating the coronation of George V, King of Great Britain. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington. PAColl-5155
The use of nikau palm fronds as seen above were for decorations in highly ordered ceremonial occasions. It is not hard to imagine why the nikau fronds were chosen: in these places the palms must have been well-established in handy areas; they offered a large frond good for providing a spectacle; they were sturdy and could be easily attached via nails, rope or wire; and, of course, the fronds offered something truly New Zealand in character.
All this is not to forget that nikau fronds were also used in more prosaic occasions such as garden parties:
Source: Garden party at Titirangi, 1919. Auckland Libraries Heritage Collections TAB-P-0188;TAB-P-0190
These two final historic photos take us up to 1919 which is about when, in terms of actual planted palms, introduced exotics like the Phoenix palm came to dominate the use of palms in New Zealand amenity horticulture (at least in the North Island). Nikau were also planted from the 1900s, and the use of fronds for decoration continued, but it probably wasn’t roughly until the 1970s that the resurgence of interest in native plants resulted in higher rates of planting of nikau palms.
Now, walking around any major New Zealand city, sights of nikau growing and flourishing will be found. Here is an example just west of the Wellington railway station, looking up to the New Zealand Parliament buildings, where in 1901 nikau fronds were used as decoration:
Footnotes:
It should be emphasised that this post does not specifically delve into Māori use of the nikau palm, which obviously pre-dates European colonisation of Aotearoa.
For further discussion see: Michele Payne, 2015, Marianne North: A very intrepid painter, Kew: Kew Publishing.
The Garden History Research Foundation 