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“It was a gloomy autumn day in 1867, dear reader. I, John Anderson Brown, was taking my daily constitutional along the bank of the Mahurangi when I was startled to be confronted by a peculiar looking apparatus. It comprised what appeared to be an easy chair, bolted to an iron base, surrounded by a protective cage of sorts, and sported a large, chronometric dial. Intrigued, I gingerly seated myself, spun the dial, and watched as the needle whirled, slowed, then quivered to a halt, next to the number 2023. The gadget started to shake …
As I emerge from the contraption that transported me through time to today’s Warkworth, I find myself in a state of trepidation, but also eager, to behold what the town whose foundations I laid 170 years ago has become.
Fittingly, I’ve been delivered onto what resembles a quay, and I immediately recognise the river’s familiar curves and verdant banks.
Those same features reminded me so vividly of the Coquet, looping its way through Warkworth village in my native Northumberland, when first I ventured up this waterway in a whale boat in the year of our Lord 1843.
I stroll along the wharf, staring up at unusually colourful edifices peeping through the trees then round the bend to see before me a bridge – nay, two bridges – straddling the river. My mill, which just moments ago – to me, at least – sat proudly on the bank, has vanished. And where my house was, in its stead there stands a handsome building, being used as some sort of public eating establishment.
I’m heartened to see that despite the passage of time the river still holds a central place, though its docks of rather sombre disposition have given way to banks now lined with promenades and greenery. Not only has it retained its historical significance, but it has evolved into a picturesque focal point. I note to the east a flat bottomed scow, a fine looking reminder of the many vessels that once plied the Mahurangi, receiving and discharging cargo and passengers at our humble wharves.
I hasten on. What have my successors made of the rest of the place, I wonder, as I make my way from the bank through a passage of sorts and onto Queen Street. I see a mix of architectural styles. Some are faintly familiar, and it’s good to see that the town evidently values its history: some of the older edifices are in pristine condition. Others are curiously reliant on great sheets of glass, and there are many inscriptions on the buildings. Bowen’s Store has disappeared, but a butcher’s shop occupying the site has some interesting artifacts displayed in the window. I must return for a closer inspection.
Lowering my gaze to street level, I am struck by the jostling throngs of people – an abundance of souls indeed! The denizens are bedecked in strange finery, yet I’m the one drawing attention. Many clutch small, shiny objects on which they fix their gaze. It dawns on me that the devices are being used for communication and navigation, a far cry from the way we related to each other, through face to face discourse, letters and telegraph. I contemplate whether in the rush of progress, some of the simpler ways have been lost, especially the close connections between neighbouring settlers. Time will tell.
In a wistful moment, I remember Margaret, who died in Van Diemen’s Land before our relocation to this colony, and our beloved children Sarah, John and Amelia. I do hope their progeny thrived in this land.
Walking further, I recollect the days when quarter acre parcels of land were being promoted for between six and fifteen pounds. It gladdens my heart to see place names celebrating my Northumberland roots remain unchanged; streets still bear names of the great aristocratic families of Percy and Neville, or the market towns of Alnwick and Hexham.
I do also see inscriptions in the Māori tongue, which apparently is flourishing – despite legislative efforts in my day to discourage its use by Māori school children. That law obviously failed, and I observe too that Dr Featherston and other notables were gravely amiss in their predictions of the Māori race “dying out”.
Where once most countenances in these parts were of European origin, today there is a diverse multitude of many ethnicities, mingling in harmony. I’m all astonishment – and somewhat envious. How much more intriguing society must be in 2023.
I cast my eyes towards the hill where I first allotted land for the Anglican Church and its burial ground. I never saw the completion of the sanctuary, but there is a grave up there I must remember to visit ere I leave.
The economy is manifestly prospering, with so many eateries, banks and haberdasheries catering for residents and visitors alike. And what on earth is a ‘Rocket Lab’, I wonder, as the words on a sign meet my gaze. Our economic endeavours focused almost entirely on timber and some early agricultural ventures. And countless goats.
Horseless carriages traversing well-paved surfaces are a spectacle to behold. It is also a scene of chaos, however. At one intersection the noisy machines are coming and going in myriad directions, and I am amazed none of them collide. This intersection, I notice, is where Brown Road (named for me?) becomes Great North Road, and converges with streets bearing the names Matakana and Hill.
I notice that some of the carriages emit steam, and wonder about the possible effect that may be having on the natural environment. Yet there does appear to be a real effort to preserve and protect nature. I see signs featuring puzzling terms like “eco-friendly” and “sustainability”, and one young lady I pass has words on her attire proclaiming “There is no planet B” – a sentiment that is novel to me, but one that I believe I grasp. With a small pang, I ponder the giant kauri trees, felled for ship masts. Certainly, my mill and the timber put Warkworth on the colony’s map, but at what cost to the “king of the forest”?
As I make my way back towards the wharf, I reflect that this town has far exceeded any vision I might have entertained. It reveres its history, including my role in it, yet embraces opportunities of the future. As it moves onward, I can only hope that it maintains the balance between advancement and preserving its heritage and, above all, its natural beauty.“
