Word: maoris
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Harold Thomas has spent most of his adult life following Rotary's twin ideals. Says he: "I think Rotary day and night." Born in a tent in the wilds of frontier New Zealand (his middle name honors the Maori chief whose wife delivered him), he fought in France in World War I, went back to Auckland to become manager of a tiny furniture company. He soon took over, expanded the company until it now spreads through New Zealand. He joined Rotary in 1923, only two years after the club got to New Zealand. As the "NZers" flocked into Rotary...
Many Sires. Love repressed in one area bursts out in another. Anna swims through day after day in a sea of 70 children-white, Maori, and "the brown-white of the New Race"-who overflow her prefab schoolhouse. There are screams from little brown Ara: "Miss Vottot! Seven he's got a knife! He's cutteen my stomat!" Blossom's nose needs wiping, Matawhero's shirt must be tucked in, Dennis' lost pencil found, Twinnie's tears crooned away, lice plucked from Mere's hair. And more screams: "Miss Popoff, Seven...
Dangerous Activity. Author Ashton-Warner, a teacher for 17 years in Maori schools and an amateur painter and musician, has fashioned a strikingly individual style: her sentences come tumbling forth like precision acrobats, alive with imagery, sensuous perception, heroic echoes. The full-lunged children are so noisily present that, for many, reading Spinster will seem like living next door to an all-day playground. The adults are drawn as well, with acute observation of the irritable crankiness that so often accompanies dedication, and with a tragicomic sense that it is often the most trivial despair that most startlingly changes...
...amorous passion of a Maori courtesan is something quite different from the passivity of a Parisian cocotte-something "very different...
According to native Maori legend, an ancient chief named Ngatoro-i-rangi got caught in a mountain blizzard near Waira-kei and had the presence of mind to call for divine help. Down from the Maoris' ancestral (and warmer) homeland, Ha-waiki, came the fire goddess. Wherever she stepped, a volcano bloomed. She warmed Ngatoro-i-rangi so bounteously that the whole region where the blizzard was blowing is still boiling over...